Leadon Hill (9781509826025) by Crompton Richmal

Author:Crompton, Richmal
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Macmillan Pub Ltd
Published: 2017-04-10T10:43:09+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

I

It was Miss Mitcham who first told Marcia that the Elliotts were back. Marcia had had a bad headache and had not been down to the village for four days. In spite of the pain, they were not unpleasant days. After one day in bed she spent them lying in the shade in her garden, relinquishing her household cares to Miss Black, watching her beloved children, being waited on by Hugo at his most adorable. But during those days she became conscious of a tiny longing for John, not strong enough to interfere with her pleasure, only just strong enough to make itself felt. She knew now definitely that the first stage of their parting was, as far as she was concerned, over. She no longer took conscious pleasure in the peace of his absence and she was beginning to want him again.

She felt quite well the fourth day, told Miss Black to take the day as a holiday, and went to the village in the morning to do her shopping.

She met Miss Mitcham just outside the gate.

“Good morning, Mrs. Faversham,” said Miss Mitcham. “I was just coming to ask how you were.”

The news of her headache seemed soon to have spread round the village. Miss Mitcham had called to inquire about it every day. Miss Mitcham was always a regular and conscientious inquirer after village invalids. The visits meant nothing. They were merely an offering to the God of Convention whom Miss Mitcham worshipped. Calling to inquire after sick neighbours was one of the things that was done by people of breeding, therefore Miss Mitcham, as a person of breeding, did it.

Marcia thanked her for her visits and assured her of her complete recovery.

“The Elliotts have come back,” said Miss Mitcham. “They say that Mrs. Elliott is much better.”

There was irony in the little mocking voice.

“Do they?” said Marcia. She couldn’t help the tone, but it did not discompose Miss Mitcham.

“Let us hope,” she said, “that it is a permanent recovery. With—neuralgia,” she invested the word with strange and sinister meaning, “it rarely is.”

II

Mr. Elliott was in the garden when Marcia returned. She saw his long, spare figure stretched out on a deck chair on the lawn as soon as she turned the corner of the house. He came across the lawn at once to meet her. He was a middle-aged man. His hair was prematurely grey and his thin, intellectual face was prematurely lined, but in his eyes lay a suggestion of youth and courage undaunted.

The Elliotts took no part in the village life. Marcia had seen little of them since her coming to Leadon Hill, but what she had seen of them she had liked.

“We’ve come back,” said Mr. Elliott, with cheerfulness in his voice, and something wryly twisted about his thin mouth.

“So I see,” said Marcia.

“Or rather, so you’ve heard,” he said. “We’ve been back for three days. Surely the news reached you?”

“Not till this morning, and then Miss Mitcham told me.”

“Of course it would be Miss Mitcham.

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