Chapter 8: Drawn Together

‘As we meet and touch each day
The many travellers on our way,
Let every such brief contact be
A glorious helpful ministry.’

I have a very pleasant recollection of my arrival at Miss Rayner’s home. It was a lovely afternoon, bright and sunny, with a touch of frost in the air, when I reached the little country station. There was a trap waiting for me outside, in charge of a garrulous old coachman who was quite a character. When he had seen to my luggage and wrapped a fur rug round me, I noticed him taking a sidelong glance at me, and then he commenced, ‘You’re a fresh h’arrival here, I reckon, miss. We don’t so h’often have young lady visitors.’

‘You have had one of the Miss Forsyths,’ I said.

‘Well—yes, we have, h’and I don’t see much harm in her. She’s flighty, but she’s young, h’and time will mend that. H’are you closely h’intimated with the mistress?’

I smiled. ‘No, I cannot say that,’ I answered, ‘but I hope to be soon.’

He shook his head doubtfully. ‘She’s no h’ordinary female. Hi’m no great lover of the weaker sex, but hi’ll say this for Miss Helen, h’and I’ve known her from the time I took her h’out h’on her first pony, she’s a deal more sensibility than many h’of h’us men! I h’often says to Susan, who h’is a poor h’useless body with a very long tongue, h’and it’s h’only the mistress’s kindness to keep such h’an h’old pottering body h’on, for she’s h’always making an h’ado about nothing. I says, “Susan, the mistress h’is h’almost h’equal to a master,” and that’s saying a good deal. She holds herself high, and she’s h’impatient like of women folks; but she has a proper respect for me that has been in the family so long, and though it is laughable how she thinks she has me in leading-strings and manages me h’entirely, I h’affords her that pleasure, h’and goes my h’own way. Ah! She’s a fine woman, Miss Helen is!’

With these and similar remarks he beguiled my drive, and though I smiled at the self-importance of his tone, I could tell that he was an attached and faithful servant. We stopped at length at a gate, drove through it up a short avenue of limes, and then came to one of the prettiest old-fashioned farmhouses that I have ever been in. It was a long, low gable-roofed house, with latticed casements, and autumn-tinted creepers covering the old grey stone and porch. The door was open, and two large dogs darted out to welcome us. When I stepped inside a cheery-looking old woman appeared in a very large cap and apron.

‘Miss Thorn, isn’t it, my dear? The mistress was called out on a matter of business, and she asked me to make you comfortable. Come this way, miss; you’ll be glad of a bit of a fire after your cold drive?’

She led me through the square hall, wainscoted up to the ceiling with old oak, and having an oaken staircase with very thick balustrades on either side going up from the middle of it, into a long, low room which, with crimson druggeting on the floor, and the same coloured curtains to the windows, looked very cosy and bright in the firelight.

She left me saying she would bring in tea, and I, seating myself in an easy chair by the fire, spread out my feet in front of the blaze, and looked about me curiously. Comfort certainly was more studied than elegance in this room. No flimsy draperies or works of art adorned the chairs and couches. A small square oak table stood in the centre of the room. On it was a beautiful chrysanthemum, some magazines and papers, and a pair of riding gloves thrown carelessly down. Two large crimson-covered couches occupied the deep recesses on either side of the fire place. A well-filled bookcase stood opposite between the pretty casement windows, and a stand of ferns at the end of the room was in front of another window, through which I could catch a glimpse of some distant hills and the setting sun disappearing behind them. The walls, like the hall, were wainscoted with old oak, but some beautiful water-colours and old china relieved their somewhat sombre hue.