Rose Galbraith (15 page)

So she began to pray. When the heads were all bowed, she bent hers and closed her eyes and prayed in her heart that she might be able to trust all this to her Lord and that she might be guided in what she should do and say. When they were singing and listening to the sermon, still she prayed in her heart.

And now and then her thoughts turned to Gordon McCarroll. He was her friend, and it would be so nice to be able to tell him everything about her life and ask his advice about some things, but of course this was something she could never write about, and it wasn't in the least likely she would ever be able to tell her troubles to him, or anybody like him. She would just have to realize that the Lord was her only confidant. He was her stay, as the lesson read from the pulpit was saying. “The Lord is thy keeper. The Lord is thy shade upon thy right hand. The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil: he shall preserve thy soul. The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even forevermore.”

So, between prayer and the sweet repetition of God's Word in her heart, Rose was comforted and put at her ease, so that she was able to smile sweetly on the way home and respond pleasantly whenever she was addressed.

Not that she was addressed frequently. Her aunt had paused for an instant as they came out of the pew and indicated to Rose where her mother used to sit when she was a little girl, right beside their mother, who was very particular about her behavior in church and would never allow so much as a paper and pencil to help her while away the long sermon time. Aunt Janet seemed to consider that a great virtue, but to Rose it seemed the very essence of the hardness of that grandmother's nature, as manifested afterward in the way she treated her child when she was grown. Not that Rose's mother had ever said anything of this to Rose, but when she had mentioned her mother she had often sighed and said, “My mother was a very serious woman! She felt that a child should always obey her parents, no matter how old she grew.” That was as near to criticizing her mother as Margaret Galbraith had ever come.

On the way back to the castle after church was over, Lord MacCallummore turned to Rose several times politely and pointed out places of interest.

“Over that way are lakes. The scenery is generally supposed to be among the most beautiful in the world. I'll be pleased to take you for a drive and show it to you while you are here.”

Rose's heart leaped up into her throat almost with fright at the idea. She didn't understand why it was that this man frightened her so greatly. He was just a man, of course, and seemed rather courteous at that. But the story of the way his father had fairly pursued her mother to make her marry him hovered in the background for her, and spoiled all possibility of her seeing anything sincerely friendly in his attitude. Also, she could hear his cold voice asking about her supposed fortune the night before.

“My father and mother are planning to ask you all to dine with us some day this week,” he was saying when Rose suddenly came back from her thoughts and gave attention. “I suggested Tuesday night,” he went on, “if that would be convenient to you?” He turned to Lady Warloch, as if it were only a form, his asking her. Exactly as if he knew perfectly well that Lord Warloch would settle the matter himself.

“Of course they could make it Wednesday if that suited you better, Lady Warloch?”

Aunt Janet nodded her head noncommittally, but Lord Warloch said in his cold voice, “Better make it Wednesday, Janet. I have an appointment on Tuesday that may keep me rather late for a dinner engagement.”

Rose drew a deep breath of relief. Two days more of grace before that would have to come, and almost anything could happen in two days when her Lord was in command.

She got out of the car at the castle and sped up to her room as fast as she could. Dinner would be announced presently, and she did not want to leave time for talk with the young lord. Something would have to be done, too, about that promise he had made to take her riding some time. She couldn't go driving with him! She couldn't! She
wouldn't
! She knew now just how her mother had felt when she ran away with her father. Only there was no lover for her to run away with now, no one to defend her and protect her. She had to be on her own!

But no, that was not so! The Lord was her defense and her protector, and what could the Lord not do?

After she had smoothed her hair and taken as much time as she dared in her room, she dropped down beside her bed again for just an instant.

“Oh, Lord, You won't forget that I've nobody else to help me, will You? You will take care of me and help me in all the trying places! Please! I'm depending on You!”

Then she went down to whatever the rest of the day had in store for her.

It was after the lengthy dinner had drawn to an end and they were rising from the table that Lord MacCallummore turned to her.

“And now, Miss Margaret,” he said, “would you like to drive with me? I think I can show you some scenery whose equal you do not have in America.”

She looked at him with a smile of kindly distance.

“I thank you,” she said. “It is very kind of you to think of me. But if you don't mind, I think I'll just stay here with my aunt and uncle. I've only just come, you know, and this castle is a delight to me. Besides, I found a book in my room I would dearly love to read, and I had counted on playing a little while on my mother's piano, some of the dear old hymns she used to love and sing to me when I was little—that is, if it won't annoy my aunt.”

Unexpectedly, Aunt Janet's eyes kindled.

“Why, yes, I should like that!” she said with sudden unusual enthusiasm. “Yes, I found a pile of her old hymn books that she used to play from when I was going through the closet by the chimney last night. I should like to hear you play them. Do you sing?”

“Why, yes, a little,” said Rose shyly.

“Then we will have an afternoon of music,” said Lady Warloch, looking at Lord MacCallummore with decision in her face. “Perhaps you will stay and enjoy it with us?”

Lord MacCallummore was not accustomed to having his plans switched around in this way, and he looked at Lady Warloch with a deepening frown on his brow and then speculatively at Rose, his eyes narrowing. Just who did this little American upstart think she was to decline his offer of a drive and make her own plans for the household? He was not used to having the girls of that region say no to his invitations. He was considered a great catch. A lord, living in one of the finest old castles in the neighborhood. Not rich yet, of course, but he would be when his father died. Immensely rich. Or so it was supposed. What was this girl's game anyway? Didn't she know that he would not brook refusal?

But they went into the great ballroom and Rose sat down at the piano again. All the afternoon she played to them and sang.

First she played the old tunes her mother used to play. She did not need the worn old books to play them, for she knew them all by heart. Her mother had played and sung them to her many a time. And as the afternoon waned and the twilight brought deep shadows in the great room, her uncle, who had found the most comfortable chair the room contained and arranged himself restfully, was deep in slumber. Audible slumber sometimes, but the piano covered all that nicely, and it was a comfort to know that he would not rouse and begin to criticize.

And Lord MacCallummore, with a hard calculating look in his eyes, sat stiffly in a high straight-backed chair and thought his mercenary thoughts. More and more the sweet girl with the big blue eyes, the lashes long and lovely, and the little frills of golden brown hair about her face figured in his plans. He was not a musician. He did not enjoy music. But he sat and listened. There was nothing else he could do at that particular minute, for he had words to say to the Lord Warloch, and he could not very well say them to a man who was snoring in a deep bass rumble. He could not touch him lightly on the shoulder and suggest that they withdraw for a little, for he must not offend Lady Warloch, who had so suddenly developed a will of her own and an interest in music. She might be needed as an ally later. He gave her a casual glance and saw that her eyes were wet with tears again the way they had been last night. She had always seemed to side with her parents in this matter of her sister's marriage, but women changed sometimes, and sentiment had a great power over them, it was said. This girl was very attractive indeed, and there was no telling how much influence she might not exercise over her aunt if she stayed long enough. No, he could not afford to displease Lady Warloch. So he decided to brave it out and stay.

He stayed until tea was brought in. The butler lighted the logs in the great fireplace that graced the big ballroom, and the soft flames played over the sweet face of the girl-mother in the gold frame above the piano.

Now Rose was seated so that he could get a full view of her lovely face and see the light and shadows that played over it and brought out her sweet expression. It would be nice to have a pretty woman like that around belonging to him. She wasn't exactly a conventional Lady MacCallummore, but perhaps his mother could teach her to be. His mother was high-born, after all.

So he stayed till Lord Warloch had finished his tea and invited him into the library for a smoke, and then Rose escaped to her own room and the book she longed to read.

But first she got out her little Bible and looked up those verses that had given her such comfort in the morning service.

R
ose awoke very early the next morning. It came to her that she had a great deal to do before breakfast. She didn't know how she was going to manage things today, but she felt that she should be ready to leave at a moment's notice. Yet she had made no plans for getting away beyond her frantic young prayers. She was merely fearful of developments.

For there was no telling what her uncle and that other lord had talked about last night, nor what they had decided to do with her. She felt that at any minute now information concerning her financial state would be demanded of her, and she didn't intend to give it. It was not her uncle's affair, and she did not like the idea of their plotting to marry her off. She must get out and away from here. And yet she must do it discreetly.

She dressed quickly, in such a way that she could go as she was if opportunity offered, or at least have only to slip into another dress and fold the one she had been wearing and put it into the suitcase in a trice. It had occurred to her that there must be delivery men coming to the house in the mornings, and surely she could pay one of them to take her away if necessity made it expedient. She might even have to take the journey on foot down to the town, but she wasn't sure she could manage the two suitcases, even if she wore her coat and didn't have to carry it, and she was not minded to leave any of her few possessions behind her.

Besides, she didn't want to go in any such stealthy way. She didn't want to leave a bitterness behind her. For by this time she was beginning to suspect that Aunt Janet had a heart hidden away somewhere behind that stiff exterior of hers, and that it had suffered more or less as it rattled around through the years in the midst of family traditions and formalism. Just for her mother's sake, if not for her aunt's, Rose didn't want to cause any more unpleasantness. She was convinced that unless she was driven by some dire necessity, as her mother had been, she must leave in a quiet, rational way, with no dramatic scenes and no discussion about it. Perhaps she might write her grandmother to send for her, but somehow that didn't seem the natural thing to do. She had prayed to be guided. She had handed this thing over to the Lord to manage for her, and it didn't seem right that she should try to manage it herself, especially as no way seemed open at the moment. She would wait for the Lord to show her. But she would be ready to go when the time came and not have to delay about silly things like packing. She was safe to put her things in the suitcase now, she felt, for she had convinced Maggie that she could look after herself and didn't need the services of a maid.

So she began swiftly to fold her garments and lay them neatly in the suitcases, so that at a moment's notice she could sweep the rest into place and get away if need be.

When she went down to breakfast in a neat morning dress she had made herself—little blue flowers scattered over a white background, and a piping of blue edging the bands that finished the neck and sleeves and pockets, she looked very sweet and serviceable for the day. There was no hint about her costume that she contemplated a hasty departure. Indeed, she really didn't, for she could not see her way ahead.

She was trying not to think about any plans yet, for she knew she was quite transparent, and she didn't want her aunt and uncle to notice any excitement about her manner. But in the background of her mind there was the continual consciousness that Lord MacCallummore firmly intended to come and take her to drive somewhere that day, and she as firmly did not intend to go. It probably would make a rumpus in the house if she refused, but she would try to do it sweetly somehow. Meantime, she kept reminding herself that she was under the immediate care of the Almighty. She must not fret her soul, she must trust.

At the breakfast table it developed that the invitation to dinner at the MacCallummore Castle had been made a definite date for Wednesday.

Rose drew a soft little breath of relief. She had been so afraid that somehow the young lord would manage it that they should come today or tomorrow. Wednesday left a lot of leeway. Perhaps by that time she could manage to get away, and the dinner which seemed to have been planned in her honor would not have to be discussed. It seemed that the dinner was actually for the purpose of having the older MacCallummores look her over and see if she were eligible for their son. At least she could not get away from the thought that this was why they were being invited. She shrank from the idea inexpressibly. Yet she knew it would surely make trouble for her to decline.