Read Online Mistress of Brown Furrows by Susan Barrie - Free Book Online Page B

years, and had no doubt counted on doing it always, Meg who was so efficient, and orderly, and composed, and loyal! Meg who was the exact antithesis of a girl who had spent almost all her life shut up in a cloistered school in the south of England, and had been expecting to earn her living doing shorthand and typing, or something of the sort. Certainly she had never anticipated taking any part in the running of a large country house that was also a busy and prosperous farm. She knew nothing whatsoever about farming, or the kind of life expected of a farmer’ s wife.
    Would Meg look down on her as being utterly ignorant— perhaps utterly unworthy!... Or would she—would she, perhaps, be kind...?
    When she returned from tidying herself in the cloakroom her hands were a little cold, as on that first occasion when she met Timothy Carrington. She had grown suddenly very quiet, and her eyes were anxious. Timothy, understanding a little, looked down at her and patted her shoulder.
    “A good hot bath when we get home,” he said, “and you’ll feel fine. And Meg is bound to have fixed us a really first-class dinner. She and Agatha between them will have killed the fatted calf, I’ ve no doubt. ”
    Carol said nothing. His mention of the word ‘home’ had stirred her pulses a little, but she could not yet believe that it was her home they were going to. And four walls and a roof do not make a home, not even when it is filled with beautiful furniture, and a sister-in-law waiting to welcome one!
    There are other things—other ingredients, which make up a home!
    The train was running into the junction, and Carrington caught sight of Judson, who looked up at him from the platform and grinned and touched his cap. He was a typical, sturdy specimen of young Westmorland countryman, and there was no doubt that he was pleased to see his master returning, and especially accompanied by a young and attractive bride.
    “I’m sure I wish you both the best of luck, sir,” he said, in deep, broad, slightly embarrassed tones which stirred Carol to the heart, and she gave him one of her most grateful smiles which decided him then and there that ‘she was a right proper sort for the master’ , though she was certainly a bit on the young side.
    “Everything all right at home, Judson?” Carrington inquired, as they climbed into the car which was parked outside the station entrance.
    “Perfectly all right, sir,” Judson reassured him. “And everyone very glad to know you’ re coming home—especially Aggie. She’ s been up half the night getting things ready for your return—and Mrs. Carrington,” he added, remembering.
    “Dear old Agatha!” Timothy exclaimed. He turned to Carol, sitting very quietly beside him on the back seat of the car. “She looked after Meg and me when we were young,” he explained, “and has been with us ever since.”
    “How nice,” Carol murmured, in what sounded to him like a small and rather frozen voice.
    He gave her hand a squeeze.
    “Cheer up!” he whispered. “It’s only an eight and a half mile drive. We’ll soon be home.”
    But Carol said nothing. In her heart she would have been glad if it had been an eighty-eight and a half mile drive, but naturally she did not intend to let him know.
    The light was beginning to die out of the sky by the time they turned in at a pair of white-painted gates, and proceeded up a drive which was short and well-kept. The old stone house lay slightly in a hollow, and trees clustered rather thickly about it, so that it was not immediately glimpsed on rounding the final bend. And then all at once the car pulled up at the foot of a flight of steps, and they saw that the weather-beaten front door was standing invitingly open, and voices were coming out of the soft darkness within. A light shone forth—a sudden, bright light which looked like a star—and a corner of the oak staircase could be seen through the entrance. That and a heavily-framed portrait in oils