When she had drunk some hot tea she was a little better, but she still felt as if she was in a dream. They had breakfast. Jenny choked hers down and drank two more cups of tea thirstily.
And then they were off. Jenny and Caroline sat behind, and Jenny was grateful because Caroline didn’t talk to her. She sat with her face turned to the window and watched the side of the road. It meant nothing to her. She watched without seeing it. And all the time she saw Mac and Mrs. Forbes. Not dead but alive, dominant and aggressive. She couldn’t think of them as dead.
When they came to the open gates she stiffened and sat up straight. And then they came to the drive, and up the drive to the front of the house, and with that the whole thing seemed to come to a head, because all the blinds were down. She said, “Oh!” and she caught Miss Danesworth by the arm very tight and hard. From the top of the house to the bottom all the blinds were down. It was a bright sunny day too, and that seemed to make it all much worse. A picture came up in her mind of the inside of the house, all dark, all closed up, all dead. She shuddered violently, and Miss Danesworth put her arm round her and said,
“You must think about the children, Jenny.”
And with that Meg and Joyce came to her mind. And of course they were alive and they would need comforting. She said quite steadily,
“Thank you. I’m all right now.”
And then Richard was opening the door and they got out and rang the bell. Jenny thought, “That’s curious, to be ringing the bell,” because it was such a long time since she had rung it. She couldn’t really remember when she had rung it last. When Colonel Forbes was alive she had always gone round to the side door and in that way. She had been so fond of him. For the first time she was glad that he was dead. She hoped that he didn’t know about his wife and about Mac. He had always been so kind to her-
As Jenny pulled the bell she thought of all the times that she had gone in and out by this door and by the little side door, and had never rung a bell at all. It seemed strange to be ringing it now when it all belonged to her. She couldn’t realize that. She didn’t realize it at all.
And then the door opened, and there was Carter, her eyes red and both hands out to her.
“Oh, Miss Jenny my dear! Oh, my dear-I’m so glad to see you!”
Jenny kissed her.
“And this is Miss Danesworth,” she said. “And Richard. He is Richard Alington Forbes like my father was. And we’re going to be married. Miss Danesworth is his aunt.”
And with that there was a scurry of feet on the stairs and Meg was in Jenny’s arms.
“She told us to stay upstairs! As if we could! Oh, Jenny, you won’t go away again, will you? All the dreadful things have happened since you went away! And we don’t know where Alan is, or anything!”
Step by step down the stairs Joyce came. She dragged her feet, and she looked so scared and miserable that Jenny ran to meet her.
“Poor child!” said Carter. “It comes very hard on the children, Miss Danesworth.”
Chapter XLIII
Jenny found plenty to do. The little girls clung to her, and it was difficult to get away from them. Sometimes it seemed as if she had never been away, and sometimes her short absence seemed to have lasted for years and years and years.
She went down into the kitchen and saw Mrs. Bolton, who began by being a total stranger receiving her new mistress, which was dreadful, and then suddenly burst into tears and addressed her as “Miss Jenny my dear,” which was a great deal more comfortable.
“And they do say that everything belongs to you now, my dear.”
“Yes, Mrs. Bolton, it does.”
Jenny didn’t cry, though she felt it was expected of her. She thought that if she could have cried she would have felt better. Tears would have been soft and comforting, but she couldn’t make herself cry. One thing was spared her. She did not have to see Mrs. Forbes, for only half an hour before they had arrived her body had been removed to the mortuary. It was wrong to feel that this was a relief, but she did feel that it was.
Early in the afternoon Miss Crampton arrived, dressed in the funereal old black which was her habitual garb at funerals and visits of condolence. Mary opened the door to her, and was promptly buttonholed.
“This is dreadful news, Mary.”
“Oh, yes, ma’am.”
“Those poor children-I’ve come to see them. And Miss Jenny-she’s come, I hear.”
“Oh, yes. Carter rang her up at once.”
“It is most improper that she should be here by herself? I cannot think how Miss Danesworth can have allowed it!”
Mary was beginning to enjoy herself.
“Oh, but she isn’t alone,” she said. “There’s Mr. Richard-”
Miss Crampton interrupted her.
“Do you mean to tell me that she is here alone with that young man? How exceedingly improper!”
“No, miss, I never said so. Mr. Richard drove Miss Jenny here, and he drove his aunt too, Miss Danesworth. They are both here.”
“Oh-” Miss Crampton stepped across the threshold. “Well, I’ll come in. And I’ll see Miss Jenny.”
Mary lacked the assurance to stand up to her. She had attended Sunday School under Miss Crampton. The habit of obedience persisted. She showed her into the drawing-room, where the flowers which Mrs. Forbes had picked yesterday were still fresh, and went running upstairs, where she met Carter and burst out,
“Oh, Carter, there’s Miss Crampton in the drawing-room! She walked straight past me, and I couldn’t stop herl”
Carter gave her a dark look.
“You could have said Miss Jenny was lying down.”
Mary shook her head.
“Not to Miss Crampton, I couldn’t.”
Carter went along to the schoolroom, where the little girls sat painting superintended by Jenny, and Miss Danesworth was reading. Richard had gone out for a walk. Meg was engaged on a grand picture of the house. She had just discovered that she had got one window too few in the front, and was debating what she should do about it. Joyce, who was copying a Christmas card with a picture of a highly decorated tree on it, was most unsympathetic.
“I don’t see that it matters,” she said.
“Of course it matters,” said Meg. “It’s one of the windows of Alan’s room. I can’t leave him with one window.”
“Lots of people have only one window,” said Joyce.
“I shall tear it up and start all over again.”
“Well, I think you’re silly,” said Joyce. Her voice was obstinate.
And then Carter came in.
“If you please, Miss Jenny, there’s Miss Crampton downstairs.”
“Horrid old thing,” said Joyce in a fretful tone.
Meg tipped her chair up.
“Miss Crampton’s a horrid old thing,” she chanted. “And how did she know you were here, Jenny?”
“Will you see her, Miss Jenny?” said Carter.
“I suppose I’d better,” said Jenny, rising reluctantly.
Miss Danesworth laid down her book.
“Shall I come too?” she said.
“Oh, if you would,” said Jenny. “She’s Mrs. Merridew’s cousin, you know, and she’ll ask a lot of questions.”
They went down together. Just outside the drawing-room door Jenny stopped, and Miss Danesworth turned to smile at her. It was such a loving smile that the tears rushed into Jenny’s eyes and she had to wipe them away before she could go in. Her mind went to the change in her circumstances. Not that she was Miss Forbes of Alington House-that didn’t matter. It was because she had Richard and Miss Danesworth that she wasn’t alone and unprotected any longer. She squeezed the hand that was put out to her, and then she went into the drawing-room.
Miss Crampton sat facing the door in her mourning clothes. When she saw Jenny and Miss Danesworth she got up. She was disappointed, very much disappointed, but she couldn’t say so. She had felt so deeply the impropriety of Jenny, a girl of seventeen, being there alone that she had come prepared to offer her own sustaining influence. And now, there was Miss Danesworth.