Rose Galbraith (16 page)

It appeared during the breakfast talk that there was a funeral that morning which the Warlochs felt obliged to attend, and Lady Warloch, looking at Rose with a worried expression said, “We shall be gone some time, Margaret. The funeral is at a distance, and as the family have been intimate acquaintances, it may be late afternoon before we can return. Can you interest yourself in reading or playing the piano while we are gone? Or would you like me to send word over to young Lord MacCallummore to come and take you driving? I am sure he would be glad to do that if he has leisure this morning.”

“No, he has not!” said Lord Warloch abruptly. “He told me last night he has very important business in Edinburgh which will take him practically all day.”

“Oh!” said the aunt.

“But I would much rather play and read anyway, if you don't mind, Aunt Janet!” said Rose, with almost a lilt in her voice. She felt as if she had an unexpected reprieve. “I shall be quite all right and enjoy myself very much.”

“Very well,” said Lady Warloch as she rose from the table. “Then I think we shall start at once.”

Rose watched them depart with a light in her eyes. She felt as if she had a very precious pleasure ahead of her. She could be alone with the wonderful painting of her dear mother. No curious eyes to watch her when she looked at it and smiled at it. It was like having Mother alone with her. Mother, just another girl like herself.

The morning began very joyously, alone in the big old ballroom with the piano and her mother's picture, with quiet all about her, and Rose's happy eyes lifted now and then to the picture. Her own voice asked a question now and again as she finished playing something. “How do you like that, Mother dear? Did I play it the way you used to play it?”

It was a beautiful two hours she spent, the first real comfort that she had felt since she came to the castle, because she had no present dread of any disapproving relatives in the background and did not need to fear the sudden arrival of Lord MacCallummore.

Then suddenly the scene changed. Maggie appeared at her side with a letter.

“Special deleevery,” she said excitedly. “It's for yirsel'. The b'y coom awl the wy oop the hill wi' it from the post, juist for ane letter!”

“Oh, thank you,” said Rose, looking curiously at the letter. Now what was this? She did not know the handwriting. Could it be from Gordon McCarroll? The roses flew into her cheeks, and then she knew she was foolish. No letter could have come so soon from America, and besides, this letter had the Kilcreggan postmark!

Her trembling fingers tore the letter open and she read.

When she had finished, she looked up to her mother's picture, and it was almost as if a look of assurance passed between the painted eyes and her own.

“God answered my prayer!” she murmured softly to the picture. “Here is a way out.”

She hurried out to find the region of the kitchen and discovered Maggie polishing the silver in the butler's pantry.

“Maggie, do you know anything about the trains?” she asked eagerly. “Would you know what time there is a train for Glasgow? I've just got word that my grandmother is ill and is anxious to see me. They want me to come as soon as possible. Would there be a way for me to get to the station, or would I have to walk down the mountain?”

“Ah! The puir auld buddy!” said Maggie sympathetically. “Is she that bahd? A'm not sae shure aboot the trains, but the butler kens thae fine. Tammas, coom ye here a meenit. The yoong leddy wants tae ken aboot the trains. Cud ye tell her?”

The butler appeared, with interest. Not many things like this happened at the castle to break the monotony of the day.

“There's a train tae Glasgow aroond the noon oor,” he said thoughtfully, “but ye scurce cud be ready by then, cud ye?”

“Oh, yes,” said Rose eagerly. “I could be ready in almost no time, but how would I get down the mountain? Is there a taxi I could send for?”

“The baker's lad will be by ony meenit noo!” said Maggie helpfully. “But ye winna gang till my lady returns, wull ye?”

Rose caught her breath.

“Oh,” she said, her brows puckered softly. “Yes, I think I must. They said I should come at once. I can leave a note for my aunt explaining about it.”

“But was there no to be a pairty oop at the MacCallummore Castle coom Wednesday nicht? Ye'll be no missin' the dinner, wull ye?”

Rose flashed a quick look at her that had relief hidden behind it. “I must!” she said. “They said my grandmother was ‘wearying' for me, and she's very old, you know, and feeble. She hasn't been well for some time. Besides, my cousin is meeting the trains for me, hoping I'll get there soon. I really must go. You wouldn't stop for a party if it was your grandmother, would you, Maggie?”

“Deed 'n I wudna,” said Maggie, with quick tears springing to her kindly eyes. “Gin the dear auld soul were in Scotland, I'd roon a' the way tae Glasgow.”

“Of course!” said Rose with a tender smile. “So now, Maggie, I'll run and get ready and write my note to Aunt Janet, and you let me know when the baker's boy comes, will you, please?”

“That I wull,” said Maggie. “An' a'll be oop tae he'p ye.”

“Oh, no need of that. I'll soon hustle my things in. I'm used to hurrying, and I know just where they go.”

She fairly flew up the stairs to her room, and by the time Maggie had finished what she was doing and got around to tell the butler to watch for the baker's boy, Rose had her suitcases well in hand. All she could give Maggie to do was to put in the little blue flowered dress she had been wearing, while she slipped into her traveling frock.

“The baker's lad has gane on oop the road a coopla miles tae take an order,” Maggie announced as she came in, “an' he'll be back an' get ye, he says, in a few meenits.”

“Oh, that's nice,” said Rose. “Then I'll have plenty of time to write my note.”

“Aye, mind ye write that. My lady wull be turrible upset. I fear me sair she'll gie me thae blame, lettin' ye gang wi' oot her.”

“Oh, she can't blame you, Maggie. You couldn't have kept me. Why, I
have
to go! She'll understand, surely! And I'll write her again when I get there. She won't be angry.”

“Well, ye better coom doon an' have a bit loonch. Ye'll be hungry on the wy. It's a lang ride tae Glasgow. I cud get the baker's lad tae wait a wee whilie for ye.”

“Oh, no, Maggie. I wouldn't want to run the risk of missing that train. Just give me a bit of that lovely cold scone in a paper and I'll put it in my handbag.”

So Maggie hurried down to get a nice little lunch for her, while Rose wrote her note. She dreaded writing that note, and yet it was far better than to have to explain face to face and hear the scathing tones of Aunt Janet's voice when she took in that it was the hated relatives who wanted her and to whom she was rushing away, leaving that dinner party entirely out of consideration. So she sat down and wrote quickly.

She hesitated over the ending. Was it strictly true? What had they done for her? And then that impersonal “love” at the end! Was that a lie too? A courteous little lie? No, but she
ought
to love them, oughtn't she? Or could she, when they had been so hard on her mother and so ugly about her father? Well, she hadn't time to study over it.

So she folded the note and addressed it to her aunt and hurried downstairs, for she heard a truck driving in and hoped that was the baker's boy.

The butler met her three steps down and took her suitcases.

“Sorry ye hed tae hoorry this wy,” he deplored as they went down. “My lady will be sair tribbled that ye had tae gang awa this wy.”

“Oh, it's all right, Thomas,” said Rose, smiling and handing him a bit of money. “I'm just grateful to you that you found this way for me to go. I would have been very much worried if I'd had to miss my train.”

Maggie was there at the foot of the stairs, with a “bit boondle” as she called the lunch which she had neatly wrapped in paper, and she got her bit of money too, for indeed, Rose was grateful for this getaway which couldn't have been carried out without their help. She also was a little fearful lest they might have to endure some unpleasantness on her behalf, when the lord and lady of the castle returned.

But at last, with her suitcases stowed away in the back of the baker's truck, she said good-bye to the servants who had helped her so graciously, and climbed in beside the baker's boy.

“Tell Aunt Janet I was very sorry I had to leave in this hasty way,” was her parting word to Maggie, and then they drove off down the mountain, Rose keeping a constant lookout to be sure that her aunt and uncle didn't appear unexpectedly on the scene and block her way even yet, though it was scarcely conceivable that a funeral at a distance could be over so soon.

But there were no such interruptions, and the baker's boy, eager and interested in the pretty young lady who wanted to catch a train, conversed with her pleasantly, telling a lot of bright little incidents out of his carefree young life and unknowingly adding to her knowledge of her family's standing in the neighborhood.

She looked back at the grim old castle as they neared the valley and wondered if she would ever come there again. She wondered if her mother would have been satisfied to have her go away in such haste and yet was sure she would not have wanted her to stay and go to the MacCallummore dinner. For she was really afraid of young Lord MacCallummore. Fearful lest in some way he would wield a power he seemed to have to compel her to marry him even against her will. It didn't seem possible that this young lord could do that with her, but there was something about his eyes that made her feel he usually got what he wanted, and she was quite sure her uncle and aunt would not lift a finger to protect her. Yet it seemed incredible that such a thing could be possible in this day and age. Surely, even in this land which was to her a foreign land, she couldn't be forced to marry against her will!

And yet her instinct warned her that she would have a very unhappy time before she got free from them all in case the young lord should attempt any such thing. She felt they all had ways of working with which she would not be able to cope, and as the distance increased from the castle, her relief increased.

As they turned into the city street and swept on toward the station, Rose looked back up at the faraway castle and smiled a little good-bye toward the place where she was leaving that wonderful painting of her mother, and the dear piano. Maybe she would never see them again, but she was glad that she had them in her memory. Nothing could take that away from her.

And so they arrived at the station. The baker's boy helped her down from the high seat, swung her suitcases down, and with a lift of his cap plunged up to his driver's seat again and roared away.

Rose, feeling as if the last connection with the old castle had left her, picked up her baggage and hurried into the station, glad to find that she was in plenty of time. She bought her ticket and then sat down to await the train. Not until she was aboard would she feel safe even yet, and it was with great relief that she presently sighted the train coming into the station. She was aboard at last, and in a few moments more she could look out of her window and see the castle, high and far away.

Now, what did the future have in store for her?

M
rs. McCarroll was quite troubled. She had just received a letter from Sydney Repplier saying she wanted very much to go over to New York and run around a few days, and she wondered if her mother's old friend wouldn't like to go over with her. She was thinking of staying there for perhaps two or three months to take a few lessons from a famous pianist whom she heard had been engaged to conduct private lessons and classes for a summer school there, and she hated to go and make arrangements for such a thing without someone along who knew the ropes, who could help her secure a place to stay in the right neighborhood and make the right plans for her. Would dear Mrs. McCarroll be so heavenly good as to take the time and trouble to go, even if only for a day or so?

But Mrs. McCarroll, after she had read the letter over twice, began to feel that she could read between the lines. What the girl really wanted was for Mrs. McCarroll to intercede with her son Gordon and get him to escort Miss Sydney around to the various places and get her nicely and decently settled where he couldn't help but come and see her occasionally and take her out. And somehow Gordon's mother was very sure that such an arrangement would not please her son. Not after the conversation they had had the last time he was at home.

“What's the matter, Agnes?” asked Mr. McCarroll that night when he came home. “You've got that anxious pucker between your eyes, so you might as well confess what you're worried about.”

Agnes McCarroll laughed.

“Why, Daddy, I'm not sure that I'm worried,” she said, letting her smile grow thoughtful, almost puzzled.

“Well, I'm sure! I never yet saw that pucker between your eyes but something developed sooner or later. Let's make it sooner. What's to pay?”