"It's a matter of business," Jeff pointed out. "The cottage is part of the wages. Mr. Esmond let Mrs. Bell stay and so she stayed."
"It was quite right," I said somewhat hotly.
"Of course." Malcolm supported me.
"That's all right," said Jeff, "but it couldn't do the estate much good to have all the cottages occupied by women who had lost their husbands."
"Well, according to the doctor, poor Mrs. Bell won't be here much longer," said Malcolm, "and the question is are the Baddocks going to have the cottage?"
"Let's leave the matter until the cottage is really vacant," I said firmly. "I don't like this talking about Granny as though she is dead already."
I was flushed, I knew, and a little vehement. I kept thinking of being poor and old and rather a nuisance to everybody.
"And," I went on, "don't say a word to the Baddocks. They'll talk and I don't like it. We'll shelve the matter of the cottage until it is really ready to be handed over to someone."
We talked of other matters. Once or twice I caught Malcolm's eyes on me. He was smiling and I felt a brief moment of happiness.
I called on Granny Bell the next day. Leah was there sewing. She hastily pushed what she was doing under a garment on her lap and pretended to be working on that She was blushing deeply and I thought how pretty she was.
"How has she been?" I asked.
"She does nothing, miss. Just lies there."
"I'll sit with her for a while," I said. "Put your needlework down and go to the farm. You could bring some milk. Tell them to charge it to the castle. It'll stretch your legs a bit."
Leah rose obediently and put her sewing on the table. She went out swiftly and silently. She reminded me of a fawn.
Granny Bell lay still, with her eyes closed. I looked about the cottage and thought of her coming there with Mr. Bell years ago newly married, starting a new life, rearing two children who had in time married and gone far away. The clock ticked noisily and Granny breathed heavily. I rose and went to the pile of needlework which Leah had laid on the table. I turned it over and saw what I had expected. She had pushed the little garment she had been stitching out of the way as I came in.
Oh, my poor child! I thought. Sixteen years old and about to become a mother. No husband and only a terrible self-righteous family to turn to.
Poor little Leah! How I wished I could help her! I will, I promised myself. I will somehow.
I went to the bed and Granny opened her eyes and looked at me. A flicker of recognition appeared there.
"Miss Su ... Su ..." she murmured.
"Yes," I said, "I'm here. Don't try to talk. We're taking care of you."
She stared at me, her eyes expressing the wonderment she could not voice. "Bl ... Bl ..." she muttered.
"Don't talk," I begged.
"B-bless you."
I took her hand and kissed it and something like a smile touched her lips.
"No ... not M-Miss ..."
Not Miss Susannah. That was what she meant. Susannah had never concerned herself with sick old women. She did not sit by their bedsides. I knew I was acting out of character but I didn't care. I so longed to comfort her. I wanted to tell her that we had arranged for the thatcher to come and mend the roof, that everything was going to be taken care of and the last years of her life should be spent without worry.
I think I conveyed that by my presence there.
She kept hold of my hand and we were sitting thus when Leah returned with the milk.
"You could heat a little," I said, "and see if she would take some."
Leah went into the kitchen and lighted the spirit lamp. Granny had fallen asleep and I went out with Leah.
"That's right, Leah," I said.
She lifted her eyes to my face, those big doelike eyes that were so haunted by fear.
"You're good, Miss Susannah," she said, "whatever they say. You're not like you used to be. ... You're not the same... ."
She did not know how disturbing her words were.
"Thank you, Leah," I said. "I should like you to tell me if there is anything wrong. If you are in need of help ... I want to help all the people on the estate... . Do you understand?"
She nodded.
"Well then, Leah, is anything wrong? You're worried about something?"
She shook her head. "I'm all right, miss."
I left her to give the milk to Granny Bell and rode back to the castle.
I was different. I cared about people. Susannah had never cared for anyone but herself. And they were beginning to notice this difference.
At dinner that night Emerald said she must write to Garth. It was a long time since she had heard from him.
I wondered about Garth. I had seen several references to him. All I knew of him was that he was the son of Elizabeth Larkham, who had been Emerald's companion in the old days. She had been a widow and Garth was her only son.
Then I forgot about him. I was so absorbed by the problem of Granny Bell and her cottage and Leah Cringle and her trouble.
I had fears of Leah's taking some violent action. I did not see how she could face a family like hers; she did not seem to be equipped to rebel against them. I had visions of her drowning herself in the stream which ran through the castle grounds, looking like Ophelia with flowers in her hair. Or finding some other means of ending her life. I had tried to talk to her several times but could make no headway. She always insisted that nothing was wrong.
Then two mornings later when I went to the cottage it was to find that Granny Bell was dead.
No one talked of anything then but Granny Bell. The district nurse came to lay her out and Jacks the gravedigger dug her grave. I went to the funeral and Malcolm came with me. I realized that there again I had surprised them all. Susannah had never been to funerals on the estate, though Esmond had now and then. He had often promised to go and when he did not attend would go along afterwards to tell the bereaved family what had prevented him. It might not have been the truth but it mollified them to a certain extent because it showed that he knew what was due the dead.
So I created quite a stir by going and I was glad, for my presence and that of Malcolm seemed to add to the ceremony simply because those who attended thought it did.
I felt tears in my eyes as I listened to the clods of earth falling on the coffin and thought of poor old Granny. At least she was at peace at last.
Malcolm took my arm as we walked away.
"You're really affected," he said.
"Who wouldn't be?" I replied. "Death is awe-inspiring."
"I know some who wouldn't, and who would find the death of anyone with whom they were not personally involved quite boring. That is just how you would have been once, Susannah."
He gripped my arm tightly and turned me round so that I was facing him. Moments like that were really frightening. I felt he must be on the point of telling me I was a cheat and a fraud.
"I often wonder ..." he began.
"What?" I asked faintly.
"Susannah, what has happened to change you? You've become so ... human."
"I always belonged to the species, you know."
"Flippancy solves nothing."
"Well, let me tell you I am just the same as I ever was."
"Then you put on a very good show of being something else."
"Oh, I was young and careless, I dare say."
"It was not a matter of youth and carelessness. You were ... a monster."
I pretended to ignore that. I went on: "Poor Granny! She was a good woman. She did her duty here all those years and was so grateful for living in that dark little cottage and being able to make ends meet."
He was silent and appeared to be deep in thought, which was disquieting.
As we went back to the castle neither of us spoke very much.
The next morning there was a caller at the castle to see me. It was a young man called Jack Chivers. He was employed by several of the farms, working when he was needed.