Old Comrades
Copyright© 2026 by Agnes Giberne
Chapter 20: Cutting the Knot
NEARLY ten days had gone by, and nothing would induce Colonel Tracy to prolong his stay at the Woodlands. He enjoyed being there immensely, he avowed; and the old reconciled comrades were well-nigh inseparable. Nevertheless, the Colonel confessed to Dorothea a private craving for his town-life, his quiet room, his solitary candle and musty books. He “wasn’t made to live in a crowd,” he said. Dorothea could not echo his sentiments, but she acquiesced.
Edred had prolonged his stay at the Park, and Mervyn was there still, instead of taking flight with his usual speed. Both brothers now, however, talked of leaving: Edred at the same time as the Tracys—Mervyn a day or two later.
For more than a week, ever since the skating, Dolly had been upstairs, invisible. Her poor little bruised face was at first in no state to be seen: and also, she had been too unwell to leave her room. The shock of her fall had perhaps only given a finishing stroke to long previous strain. From one cause or another, she was thoroughly weak and low, disposed to tears on the slightest pretext, and unable to rally.
Dorothea had had no easy part to play. She found herself very much in request with both brothers: with Mervyn plainly for her own sake; with Edred as plainly for Dolly’s sake. Edred liked to get Dorothea alone, and to hear her talk about Dolly; only nobody except Dorothea was aware of this explanation. She was very willing to talk to him of Dolly, and she was very anxious to do her duty to Dolly in keeping Mervyn at arm’s length. But the latter task was by no means easy; partly because she was doing violence to her own inclinations—partly because Mervyn was of a nature not to be easily checked.
Matters had developed fast in these few days. When Dorothea first came to Craye, she liked Mervyn, and she knew that she could like him very much more. The potential had now become the positive. Dorothea not only liked him very much more, but she felt that for her, he stood alone as the man who was unlike all other men. This means something far beyond mere liking; yet for Dolly’s sake Dorothea strove hard to hide what she felt, to treat him as a mere acquaintance.
Perhaps she was less successful in veiling her true feelings than she imagined. Perhaps Mervyn had a keener insight into woman’s nature than Edred. The more Dorothea endeavoured to hold aloof, the more persistently he came after her. Both young men were constantly in and out of the house all through that week, and both appeared to come mainly for the purpose of talking to Dorothea. There was no appearance of jealousy between them; perhaps because the sunny-tempered Mervyn was not given to jealousy, perhaps because Edred felt too secure. So, at least, people conjectured. It might easily be thought by a looker-on that she gave encouragement to Edred. She was more at her ease with him than with Mervyn.
And poor little Dolly all this while was hors de combat, unable to fight her own battle. It did seem hard to the elder sisters; both of whom had now a pretty clear understanding of the state of Dolly’s mind, and neither of whom supposed Dorothea to be fighting Dolly’s battle for her—only through ignorance fighting it wrongly. Isabel and Margot had seen with pleasure Mervyn’s evident fancy for Dorothea; and they would have been equally pleased to see the “fancy” returned. Attentions from Edred were another matter, and that his attentions should be apparently well received, while those of Mervyn were more or less rebuffed, exercised the sisters greatly.
“I think it is too bad—quite too bad!—and I wish they had never come to Woodlands at all,” Isabel declared hotly.
Margot could have echoed the wish. “But that is hardly fair,” she said. “Edred might never have cared for Dolly in any case, —and I am sure Dorothea does not know how things are.”
“Then she ought to know! People ought to use their eyes,” said unreasonable Isabel.
“Some people haven’t the gift,” remarked Margot, thinking how slow Isabel herself had been.
“Why shouldn’t one give her a hint, Margot? I’ll do it.”
Margot shook her head. She had a great dread of interfering in such matters. Simple blundering Isabel, who had done damage before by her outspokenness, pondered the matter for a whole half-hour, and came to the conclusion that this was a case for open speech. People like Isabel who meddle in everything, do harm nine times out of ten; but the tenth time they occasionally manage to set wrong right, thereby gaining encouragement to proceed in the same course. The nine times are forgotten—the one is remembered.
Twice a day Dorothea was allowed to see Dolly for a chat. She would gladly have stayed longer than the stipulated fifteen or twenty minutes; but no encouragement to do so was given. Dorothea was keenly aware that, Dolly did not care to have her. A barrier seemed to divide them; and not all Dorothea’s efforts could do away with it. “And yet we ought to be friends,” she said often to herself.
Mervyn and Edred had each promised separately to look in late that last afternoon—Mervyn to say good-bye to the Tracys, Edred to say good-bye to the Erskines. “About tea-time,” both had said; and there was some idea of Dolly coming down for the first time; but though perhaps well enough, she seemed to shrink from the exertion.
The matter was still undecided at four o’clock. “Will she come!” Dorothea asked eagerly, meeting Isabel on the stairs. Isabel gazed absently, with wrinkled brow, and asked “Who?”
“I mean Dolly. Margot said she might be able. Wouldn’t it do her good?—to be downstairs, I mean.”
Isabel was too much absorbed with one idea to have room in her mind for any other train of thought. “Yes, —no, —I am not sure. Dolly isn’t sure yet, I believe,” she said vaguely, moving towards the nearest open door on the next landing, with the air of one expecting to be followed. “I have been thinking that I—I—there is something I should rather like to ask you.”
Dorothea walked after her into the bedroom, and waited.
Isabel carefully closed the door, and then fidgeted to the fireplace.
“Dolly seems so depressed just now, doesn’t she! Has she not seemed so to you?”
“Yes; I wish she did not. But perhaps in a few days she will be better.”
“She is getting over the fall. It is not only that now: at least, I believe not. I am speaking privately—I mean I shouldn’t like what I say repeated to anybody—but—but—” blundered Isabel, “you see, we seem to know you pretty well now. And you have seen a great deal of the Claughtons.”
“Yes, a good deal.” Dorothea could not restrain a slight blush.
“And I thought I would just ask—I thought I could just put a little question. I should like so much to know whether it has struck you—whether you have an impression that either of them cares at all for Dolly, —cares very particularly, I mean.”
Dorothea was silent. If she had had merely an “impression,” she could have told it at once; but how could she betray Edred’s confidence to Isabel?
“You see I am asking for Dolly’s sake. One can’t help noticing, —and I dare say you have noticed that she does seem to—well, to have a particular liking for one of them—more than just friendship.”
Dorothea said “Yes” again.