Return to Spring by Jean S. Macleod

Author:Jean S. Macleod
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2012-05-07T21:56:55+00:00

“I doubt if she would be happy away from the cottage. She seems to cling to it,” he said.

“Yes. It was through the kindness of the Squire’s wife that the cottage was given to her. Mrs. Veycourt was seemingly a very gracious lady, and there are numerous instances of her kindness to be found in and around the village.”

“Her memory is very precious to Widow Charlton,” Travayne said quietly.

“I’d feel much better about Mrs. Charlton if she had someone to live with her, all the same,” Ruth said. “She always seems so alone to me.”

“She wasn’t alone to-day,” Travayne said almost absently. “There was a woman called Harrup with her.”

Ruth frowned.

“I wonder what Martha Harrup was doing down there,” she said. “It won’t be out of pity or a desire to help, I’m afraid.” “Probably out of curiosity!”

“Well, whatever it is, I’d sooner Mrs. Charlton had anyone than Martha,” Ruth declared.

Travayne rose to help her over the stile and they set off to walk across the moors.

“So would I,” he acknowledged.

It was easy to walk in silence beside John Travayne, Ruth thought, as the rough moorland path slipped away behind them and they breasted the rise which led on to the narrow cliff road. A gust of wind met them, sweeping in from the sea with the tang of salt heavy on it and the sting of the cold North Sea in its breath. Travayne breathed it in deeply.

“It’s good for a man!” he said appreciatively.

“After years abroad?” Ruth questioned.

“At any time!”

His eyes were on the far horizon, as if the vast blue distance and the expanse of water between had power to cut him off completely from his immediate surroundings. That far-away look cut her out, too, but she was not angry. She knew that this preoccupation of his was not intended to hurt her in any way. It came upon him unbidden. She had noticed it before now.

They were almost at the lane which led past the Long Meadow when Ruth saw Valerie Grenton’s car drawn up beside the hedge. Valerie was talking to two men, and instantly Ruth recognised Edmund Hersheil and his artist friend. It was impossible to avoid a meeting; there was only this way back to Conningscliff.

“Miss Grenton and our friend, Mr. Hersheil,” Travayne said. “Must we stop?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Ruth saw Valerie Grenton flush as she caught sight of them approaching, and she was aware, too, of Edmund’s angry stare when they drew level and stopped. Almost reluctantly Hersheil presented the artist.

“Mr. Monset—Miss Farday. You’ve met before, I believe.”

To Ruth this second meeting with the artist brought back the scene on the day of her father’s accident most vividly. She turned to John Travayne.

“Mr. Travayne, this is Mr. Hersheil, our new manager at Conningscliff,” she managed, in the silence which followed the first introduction.

Edmund did not attempt to offer Travayne his hand, and Ruth noticed that John had kept his thrust deep in his trouser-pocket.

“A merry company!” Valerie Grenton laughed, as she met the amused smile in the artist’s eyes.

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