Deb

“ Deb gazed at her sister's rapt face, glowing in the firelight, and wondered if the brain behind it could be altogether sane.
"To call that HAPPINESS!" she ejaculated, with sad irony and scorn.
"If you must fix a name to it—yes," the widow considered thoughtfully.
"After all, 'unmiserable' does not go far enough. I AM happy. For, Debbie"—turning to look into the dark, troubled eyes—"I'm clean now—I never thought to be again—to know anything so exquisitely sweet, either in earth or heaven—I'm clean, body and soul, day and night, inside and outside, at last." ”

“ How was a chap to do otherwise when at last he saw the old look in Deb’s eyes, and heard Roger Lyndesay, standing at his window, say “Thank God!” as a man before a High Altar? Deb had put her hand on his head and soothed him in the quaint, motherly way she kept for Larry only, and for the first time he found himself able to tell her of his other trouble that had taken the brightness out of the sun. He had been too chilled by her strange aloofness to mention Verity before, but now he gave her as much of the story as he loyally could, and Deborah’s intuition told her the rest. ”

“ So Deb set off next morning, full of benevolent intentions, to gather poor humdrum Rose and her (in his way) truly worthy husband into the sphere of her golden prosperity. Also, incidentally, to warm herself in the light of faithful and familiar eyes. Since her final dismissal of Claud Dalzell—although she was satisfied with that act, and ready to repeat it again, if necessary—she had been conscious of a personal loneliness, not sensibly mitigated by her crowd-attracting wealth. ”

“ But I don't care, except for Deb. I do hate her to have to cry, through me, and to be so kind at the same time. She scolds Francie for being horrid—that does no good, she says, and she is quite right—and then asks me if I have any love left for her, and all that kind of thing. It makes me feel like a selfish brute; and yet it would not be unselfish to sacrifice Peter. ”

“ Deborah had not seen him for weeks; she gave a cry of joy, and sprang into his arms. The roughness of the boy had passed from Charlie Fleming, but his rare demonstrations of affection were shewn to Deborah only. 'I am only here for half an hour, Deb. I must saddle horse afresh and off to Lincoln Castle. I am in rare trouble, Deb. Hush, child! I am come to thank ye for refusing Adam Sinclair. Better poverty, Deb, than that. Better starvation. I'd blow his brains out sooner than see you his wife. ”

“ She belongs to him now, not to us. She has voluntarily cut herself off from her world. Let her go. Deb, if you love me—"
He paused, and Deb smiled into his handsome but disgusted face.
"Ah, is that to be a test of love?" she asked. "I understand. I am to choose between you. Well"—she rose, towering, drawing the big diamond from her engagement finger—"I am going to her now. I ought to have been there hours ago, but waited back to receive you. Good-bye! And pray, don't come again to this contaminated house. We have too horribly gone down in the world. ”

“ It galled Deb, not unreasonably, to be identified with La llorraine as a rouette of fifty years ago. Manon was to marry Dolph Carew ... inevitably Deb’s thoughts drifted back to Jenny—lingered there ... all that wish and desire and beat for life wasted ... and that charming little face, mournful or roguish as a monkey’s. “But Bobby’s left; Bobby with the same crinkle in his eyes and mouth and heart.... If I were to die, wanting things like Jenny did, there would not even be Bobby to remind people....” ”

“ When Deb hasn’t me to look after, she’s apt to get out of spirits, and to be thinking about her own ailments—fancied more than real, for she is as hearty as she can expect to be at her age; while, if she has a guest and a little child to occupy her thoughts, she’ll be perfectly happy and contented ”

“ There is not a scrap of hope. Dear old Deb is the worst, because she cries—fancy DEB crying! I don't care what Francie says and does, only, if she were not my sister, I would never speak to her again. Even Mary is antagonistic, though I don't believe she would be if it were not for that insufferable husband of hers; he thinks himself, and puts it into her head, that we are all going to fall into the bottomless pit if we let trade into the family—as if nine-tenths and more of the aristocracy of the country were not traders, and my Peter is as good as her parson any day. ”

“ Left to herself, Deb stood dazed for a moment in the center of the floor. Then she tottered to an empty box standing near and sank upon this, the picture of misery and despair.
What should she do? What could she do?
Over and over she asked herself the questions, but without reaching a satisfying answer. She was the prisoner of a wicked man, and to get away from him appeared impossible.
The loft was very dusty, and from overhead hung huge cobwebs full of dirt and spiders. ”

“ It was not living, it was "pigging", Frances said—and Deb agreed with her—although when Keziah ventured to call one day to inquire into the state of things, Deb calmly asserted that all was well.
In despair she tried a lady-help, in the person of Miss Keene, dying to return to her dear family (from relations who did not want her) on any terms.
"Whatever we ask her to do we must do ourselves," said Deb to grumbling Frances, who seemed never willing to do anything; "and of course we shall have to get a washwoman, and a charwoman to scrub; but it will be cheaper in the end. ”

“ Why was she on certain occasions so anxious to rid herself of Deb’s company? Why was she so vague and elusive as to the manner in which she had spent the foregoing day, or intended to spend the morrow? Why had she once said casually “Don’t drop in here without letting me know, Deb. Always ’phone. I’m out such a lot, it’s hardly worth your while to chance it....” Antonia herself was always “chancing it” at Montagu Hall.
A second door in the studio led to a small garden. Beyond the panes a tall young man suddenly loomed, and rapped three times, as might a conspirator. ”

“ Just like a peach. Does mine feel scratchy? Bum, isn't it, that it should be such bliss to rub them against each other! Oh, Jove! Here's Mother Deb!"
They had but a moment to regain their feet before the sleepy landlady was upon them, bearing a candle in her hand.
"All in the dark! Then he must have gone," she began, and broke off to continue, in a shocked voice, "Muster Nin, it's time you was a-going."
"You'll have to put me up here tonight, Deb, and to-morrow, yoong lass'll be away oop to t' Pele with me. We're going to get wed, yoong lass and me! What d'you think o' that?" ”

“ Deb, who could be quite happily unembarrassed, even unconscious, when the delicious cream-white slenderness of her limbs was exposed to view, who would not have minded a whit any haphazard spectator of her evening bath, cheek rubbed contentedly against her own satiny damp shoulder, loving the huddled contact, Deb now underwent sheer agony [166] at the novelty of stark forehead, ears, and nape of the neck. The erection on top of her head felt rickety, top-heavy; all the separate hairs dragged the wrong way, as hair is prone to do when forced out of its groove ”

“ Cary took the child's hand. "I expect it will be beautiful too, Deb. Sometimes ever so much brightness in just a little place makes up for the grey all around. Aren't you going to let me see the schoolroom?"
"Oh, would you like to?" cried Deb, brightening. "Certainly, Mr. Fairfax. Christmas is lovely, isn't it? Unity says that maybe she and I will slip down to the quarter and watch them dancing. I'm sure I don't want parties, nor people staying!"
Deb squeezed her companion's hand, and kept silence from the big elm to the lilac-bushes. Then she broke out. ”

“ So Deb had been a lonely little girl in a lonely house,—a rather fierce, intensely reserved little girl, pure Lyndesay and no Morton whatever, a strange little girl who loved the woods and the silent places, and rarely made friends with anybody in her own station. She was bred in awe of Crump, and held aloof from the Lyndesay boys in a mood that was half reverence and half resentment, though for Lionel, to whom these sentiments did not apply, she had her moments of kindly condescension. ”

“ Should she tell him her fervent wish that some suave brilliant woman had indeed shaped him for present enlightenment? Deb had no ambition to be instructress.... But he would not believe her ... impregnated as he was with his theory of female psychology.
“All girls say ‘no’ when they mean ‘yes’; all girls like to pretend they’re not worthy; all girls are jealous of the other woman in a fellow’s past; all girls——” Deb was too tired to combat the ‘all-girls’ convention.
She stood up: “I want to go home, Samson.” ”

“ Mary remained silent.
"Well, I must go," said Deb, jumping up, as if washing her hands of a disappointing job. "The carriage must be there, and Bob will be starving for his dinner. No use asking you to join us, I know. But you must come to Redford soon, Molly—or somewhere out of this—when you feel better and able. You shall have rooms entirely to yourself, and needn't see anybody. I will come tomorrow, and you must let me talk to you about it." ”

“ Deb knew something, and so she put the question by.
"I don't encourage scandalmongers. Mrs Ewing is young and thoughtless—and pretty—which naturally lays her open to ill—natured gossip." "My informant is one of the least ill-natured of women; she is a person of the highest principle."
"Ah, those high-principled women—I know them!"
Mr Goldsworthy was nonplussed for the moment. He could not accept the suggestion that Deb was not high-principled. ”

“ The herd was undressing itself in a miscellaneous manner—yawning, chaffing, cutting stupid jokes, some of them at his expense; until the process was at an end, and he could reasonably assume the fellows to be asleep, he preferred the gardens to the bachelors' quarters.
And the free night enfolded him—the rising moon uplifted him—in the usual way, he being, like Deb, like Guthrie Carey, an instrument fitted to respond to their mute appeals. Perhaps even more finely fitted than Guthrie or Deb ”

“ Jan,” rebuked Miss Deborah. “I have told you so often.”
“Who cares?” returned Master Cheese. “Jan doesn’t. The fact is, Miss Deb, that there’s a ghost about at night just now.”
“Have they got up that folly again? Rachel Frost rests a great deal quieter in her grave than some of you do in your beds.”
“Ah, but it’s not Rachel this time,” significantly responded Master Cheese. “It’s somebody else.”
“Who is it, then?” asked Miss Deb, struck with his manner.
“I’ll tell you if you won’t tell Jan. It’s—don’t start, Miss Deb—it’s Fred Massingbird’s.” ”

“ Have you got some big scissors, Jill?”
“Nail-scissors, curved; in the shape of a stork.”
“Don’t be an idiot, Deb—your glorious mane....”
“Oh, Deb——”
But in spite of the protests of Antonia, Nell and Zoe—Gillian sat silent, probably thinking any distraction good for Deb’s soul at the moment—she unpinned her hair and let it fall in [244] a dense blue-black web over her face; her voice came in muffled jerks from the improvised tent:
“It’s that once started ... it seems so silly to stop. So silly and affected. Anyway, they won’t believe you—once you’ve let them start. ”

“ And life is long enow from the wedding to the grave!'
Sir Vincent stood with the letter in his hand. 'Deborah, ye speak strangely; yet you are smiling, and your eyes and cheeks are bright. Little one, tell thy wretched father if thou'rt unhappy over this? Speak, Deb, darling; and if it grieves thee, I will see myself in jail, and Charlie on the gallows, ere thou shalt sacrifice thy life. Deborah, be honest with me.'
'Why, I am honest always. It will not hurt me. I will be a good wife to him till the day I die, if it must needs be so. But would you have me say I love him, reverence him? ”

“ If you won't have Redford, I will—yes, and every stick and stone that belongs to it."
"And have people talking and saying that you did it for something else, and not business reasons."
"People would be right, for once."
"But I won't have it!" cried Deb. "I won't stand being an object of your benevolence. You want to pay a lot more than the place is worth, so as to augment our income. ”

“ And Deb had to shock them, in the impish mood which possessed her, for which Elly Ladenberg (née Harrison) was perhaps primarily responsible. “You haven’t brought your needle-work?” “I haven’t got any,” laughed Deb. “Then you have finished your present for Frau Koch?” in a discreet undertone. Deb learnt that it was the sacred custom here for any young girl staying with a [16] married lady, to stitch a most elaborate piece of embroidery as a thank-offering for her hostess. ”

“ And Deb was not one to think evil of her own flesh and blood, if it was possible to think good.
She, too, might have filled her letters to Australia with titles of nobility—nobility of a firmer standing than the Countess and her friends could boast of—had she been inclined to do so. A baronial hall, dating from the Conquest—a ducal castle, not to speak of a Royal Presence Chamber—was nothing to Deborah Pennycuick after a while. ”

“ I'll take him away tomorrow."
"You will do nothing of the sort," flashed Deb. "You are not fit to have the care of him. He shall stay here, where he will be treated as a baby ought to be—not smacked and knocked about for nothing at all."
"I admire his pluck," quoth Dalzell, sauntering up.
"So do I," said Deb; but she handed her sobbing burden to Mary. "Here, take him, Moll, while I put my hair up. POOR little fellow!"
She need not have been so severe. She might have known that it was because the cheeks and hair were hers that the baby had been punished for his assault on them. ”