I’ve been to Glasgow,” said Major Kilpatrick. “At the Motor Show, you know, and catching trains and that sort of thing. Bit grimy, isn’t it? What!”
Mrs. Jackson at once rose in arms. “Not a bit grimier than any other big town. Bless me, its smokiness is just a sign of its prosperity.” She gave a sigh. “It’s a fine place, Glasgow. I’m proud, I can tell you, to belong to it.”
“Quite right. By Jove, yes. Stick up for the place you belong to, that’s what I always say. But this part of the world’s not bad either, you know, and Rutherfurd’s far the nicest place round about. What times I used to have there with Ronnie and Archie. It was dashed hard luck that they had to sell it.” Major Kilpatrick ate a few mouthfuls rapidly, and continued: “Not that it’s not jolly nice having you there, you know, Mrs. Jackson, but the Rutherfurds—well, the Rutherfurds, we all know them, don’t you see?”
“That’s what I said myself,” his companion assured him. “The first time I went to look at the place they were so kind and pleasant to me, and I just said, ‘What a down-come from Lady Jane Rutherfurd to Mrs. Jackson.’ ”
Major Kilpatrick laughed uncomfortably. “I wouldn’t say that. Oh, by Jove, no, I wouldn’t say that. . . . By the way, does your son hunt?”
“He never has, but he’s going to learn. You see, since ever he came home from the War he’s been pretty close kept at it, learning the business, but now that we’ve bought a place, Mr. Jackson wants Andy to be more or less a country gentleman, if you know what I mean? Father’s not what you’d call an old man—sixty-four; that’s nothing, when you see pictures of people quite spry at a hundred—and he’s quite able to look after the business himself—in fact, he prefers it. He has a wonderful business head, Father has, as sharp as a needle. I think, mebbe, Andy’s more like me, inclined to be dreamy-like. And he likes the country; he’s as fond of that old house as if his ancestors had lived in it for hundreds of years.”
“Is he though? By Jove.”
“Yes. I sometimes think it would comfort Lady Jane to know that the one who’ll come after us likes the place so well.”
Major Kilpatrick agreed, and in the pause that followed addressed a remark to the lady on his other side.
Mrs. Jackson sat crumbling her toast and watching her fellow-guests. Andy was talking to Mrs. Douglas and laughing at something she had said. His mother decided that he was much the best looking man at the table. Lord Langlands had a big nose, and stooped, and was rather like some great bird; Major Kilpatrick was an ugly little man with a comical face; Colonel Douglas was red-faced and bald; but Andy looked really well in his white tie and waistcoat, not handsome exactly, but solid and kind and dependable. He glanced her way and she nodded and smiled to show that all was well with her. . . . She liked Lady Langlands, she decided; she had a grave, almost a sad face, and a gentle manner. Mrs. Douglas seemed quite an old friend and Mrs. Jackson felt a proprietary pride in her very smart appearance—how well she put on her clothes. Mrs. Kilpatrick of the carmine lips she mentally shook her head over, and thought what a silly couple she and her husband were. The only other woman present she did not think she liked the look of—Miss Lockhart, she thought her name was. She nibbled a salted almond and considered her. She was well dressed and had beautiful pearls, but Mrs. Jackson did not care for the arrogant look in her face. This lady, she thought, was probably given to keeping people in their places.
“I was saying, Mrs. Jackson”—her host was addressing her—“that there is a great deal to be said for seeing the winter through in Scotland. Only we who have endured hardships can properly appreciate the first snowdrop, and those who have flown to Egypt or the Riviera haven’t the same right to watch the daffodils. Don’t you agree?”
“Oh yes. Yes, indeed,” she said, rather confusedly, turning from watching Miss Lockhart’s attractive though rather wicked mouth as she talked to Colonel Douglas, to the solemn countenance of her host. “I love the spring days after the dark and cold, and the sight of the crocuses always reminds me that the spring-cleaning’s coming on. I wonder if you’ve noticed an advertisement—it’s awful clever—a picture of a great bunch of delphiniums and a bottle of furniture polish? It fair makes you smell a newly-cleaned room.”
Lord Langlands looked slightly surprised. “Eh—quite so,” he said. “Are you going south after Christmas?”
“Oh, mercy, no. We’re just newly settled into Rutherfurd. Such a flitting as we had! I’m sure we’ll not want to stir a foot from home for ages. I’m not fond of continental travel myself. The language, you know, and the queer food. I’m terrified they give me snails. . . .”
When Mrs. Jackson returned to the drawing-room with the other ladies she glanced surreptitiously round for a clock. Dinner had lasted so long, surely it must be after nine, and the car was ordered for ten o’clock. Only another hour to get through!
“Is that chair comfortable? Do let me give you another cushion,” and Lady Langlands tucked in a cushion behind Mrs. Jackson, while Jean Douglas seated herself in a low chair beside her and began to talk.
“I want to tell you how nice you look. There is nothing so becoming as black velvet and pearls. . . . And how’s Rutherfurd? I had a letter from Nicole the other day; she always asks about you.”
“Yon’s a nice girl,” Mrs. Jackson said earnestly. “I wonder—d’you think it would be all right for me to ask her to visit us some time? I wouldn’t dare ask the cousin, but Miss Nicole was so kind and helpful, she made me realise what it must be like to have a daughter. I’d love to have her if she’d come.”
“Then I’d ask her if I were you.” Jean laughed a little. “As you say, Miss Burt is a different matter—though, remember, there’s a lot of good in Barbara, but she lacks something that Nicole has, that touch that makes the whole world kin. We all liked her, but no one exactly loved her, whereas Nicole has had all her life a surfeit of love—if such a thing is possible. It made it hard for poor Babs.”
“Ucha. Well, I thought we might be giving a dance later, and Miss Nicole said she’d help me any time I needed her. But, of course, it might be trying for her coming back, too.”
“Oh, if she refused you would understand why, but—— What did you say, Tilly? No, this isn’t my month to visit the Nursing Home.”
The talk drifted away from Mrs. Jackson into a maze of Christian names, and events of which she knew nothing. They knew each other so well all these people! She felt a little lonely sitting there, wearing a fixed smile, and listening to Tilly Kilpatrick lisping out gossip about meets and dances, and the whereabouts of this one and that, and her thoughts wandered, and presently she nodded. Lady Langlands’ voice saying her name made her sit very straight, and look incredibly wide awake.
“We are hoping, Mrs. Jackson, that you will take Lady Jane’s place in our Nursing Association. Perhaps you will go with me one day and see over our little hospital? It is part of our War Memorial, and we’re very proud of it.”
Mrs. Jackson nodded amiably. “I’m sure I’ll be very glad. I’ll do anything but speak in public—that I can’t do, but I’ll sit on Committees, and subscribe money and all that sort of thing. . . .”
“That’s the kind of member we want,” said Jean Douglas, while Mrs. Kilpatrick said, “Oh, Jean!” and giggled.
* * * * *
Driving home with her son Mrs. Jackson was a happy woman. The ordeal was over, and a wonderful
