Chapter 2: Alone

“When from our better selves we have too long
Been parted by the hurrying world, and droop
Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired—
How gracious, how benign is solitude!”
Wordsworth.

“MY DEAREST GERALDINE, —”
“My thoughts have been with you, of course. At first I felt that my better half had gone with you, and only my feeble carcass left here, but you know my adaptability! In a coster’s cart or Rolls-Royce car, a slum garret, or Park Lane mansion, I should be bound to get some fun out of it! And I’m not only getting fun but really steeping myself neck-deep with thrills of delight in my delicious atmosphere and surroundings! And you’ll be glad to hear that I am growing into my bed, spreading my roots there, and almost getting to like an invalid’s life! Well, what can I tell you? I begin my day with hearing pretty Janet’s view of life. She’s almost as talkative as her Granny, but has got very modern cravings! I end the day by a crack with Granny, who is anything but modern; and my interim is spent with many pleasant companions. A robin and a gull visit me daily—they bring others of their acquaintance who regard me somewhat indifferently and don’t come again. But my robin never misses a day; and my gull walks boldly inside my room and up to my couch, where he expects, of course, some special tit-bits in reward for his friendliness.”

“Duncan brings me fish, and talks over the prospects of the shooting. He does not like the man who has taken it.”

“‘He be ane o’ these Englanders who fancies a kilt and a bonnet will turn him into a highlander—an’ he be in an awfu’ funk lest he miss his shot; an’ spends muckle bawbees in endeavourin’ to win approval!’”

“It appears he was one of the house-party at the Frasers’ last year, and Duncan heard ‘accounts’ of him!”

“Granny’s nephew, Colin, cuts our wood, runs errands, and is a first-rate gardener. The lawn is beautiful: the birds make it their playground. And now I must tell you that yesterday Duncan presented me with the sweetest Highland pup that you have ever seen! His name is Shags, a dog of good pedigree and one that will be a real companion. The collies live out-of-doors—they cannot be enticed into my room. Shags has established himself at once at the foot of my couch, and he understands my talk, and appreciates it. He has a very rough little head, and cocky ears, and bright brown eyes that wink in an understanding manner. His tail is always wagging, and life to him at present is one huge joke. He knows the power of his sharp little teeth, and uses them on everything in his way; but he is learning self-control and discretion, and I make him a fresh ball of rags every day, which he tears to pieces with relish and scatters to the winds. Tell the boys about him. He is quite a personality!”

“Tell Ted I’m steadily getting through the box of books; but I am doing a ‘power of meditation’ as Duncan says. And when I’ve nothing to do but dream, I dream with a vengeance. I am fed well, I sleep well, and barring the first two days, I have not had much grinding in my old back.”

“Enough of me and my doings! Tell me all about yourselves—how the chicks like India—what they do and say. Have you a nice ayah? What is your house like? Who are your neighbours? Does Ted like his fellow-officers? I expect sheets and sheets from you. Don’t you dare to forget the poor isolated prisoner of Loch Tarlie!”

“Oh, Geraldine, why aren’t you all here with me! Then we should be happy indeed. Best love and hugs to the darlings.”

“Your loving”
“ROWENA.”

Rowena had settled down, as she wrote, into a quiet invalid’s life. She had severe internal conflicts at first. She wanted so much to be up half the day at least. But a letter from her old fatherly doctor sent her to her couch, and kept her chained there. She was assured it was the only chance for her cure.

The first fortnight was fine. A sense of rest and peace stole into her heart as she gazed over the beautiful landscape out of her window. No two days were alike. The softness of the colouring of the distant hills, the shadows which ceaselessly flitted across them and the loch, and the fresh opening of the spring flowers in the garden, were a continual surprise and interest to her. She got Janet to bring her bowls of pale primroses and daffodils, and her room soon became a bower of sweet-smelling flowers.

Then, suddenly, the weather changed. There was a spell of wet and wind.

Windows had to be shut; the wind howled down the chimneys, and soughed through the trees, and tore some delicate young plants in the flower-beds to pieces, scattering the fragments over the lawn. The loch churned itself into a grey muddy froth, the singing birds fled to their nests and stayed there.

Rowena looked out of her windows, and for three days watched the career of the storm with the greatest concern. It really seemed at times as if everything young and fresh would be swept away.

After a time the wind fell, but the rain continued, and then it began to pall upon her. Would it ever be fine again? Would the hills ever appear out of their thick well of mist? She read till her eyes ached. She worked at her rug till her fingers ached. She meditated till her head ached. She yawned, she fidgeted, and finally she came to the conclusion that she was becoming unutterably bored.

Shags was restless and was unaccustomed to the closed windows. Hitherto he had wandered in and out of his own free will, and he basely deserted Rowena for the kitchen. Depression settled down upon her on the fifth day of storm and rain. After she had had her lunch, she began to wonder how she could get through the winter, if a wet week in June affected her so sorely. Shags’ appearance for a time distracted her, but after a little he left her, and lay against the window, his nose close to the glass, showing in every hair on his head how much he disliked the indoor life. Rowena took up a fresh book and tried to forget herself in it; but the rain and wind began to get upon her nerves. Her book did not interest her—she tossed it aside.

“And in India they are revelling in sunshine! Perhaps Ted will be playing polo, or he and Geraldine riding out together. Oh, it’s hard lines I shouldn’t be with them! I shall forget how to talk, if I am shut up here much longer. I might as well be doing my time in a Dartmoor prison, or at Broadmoor.”

Then she started—sounds came to her of a car of some sort coming up the drive. Could it possibly be a visitor? Hardly—on a day like this. She was not long left in doubt. Granny appeared at the door, with signs of agitation.