On Sunday, Joanna apologized to Selina, and all was well between the two girls again. Selina came home with the Rowntrees to spend the afternoon and to hear the story of Joanna’s ride. She found it very exciting. “And so they both went over the hedge together?” she asked more than once. “How thrilling it must have been. Oh, Joanna, you are so lucky.”
“Why?”
“Well, simply to have been there.” Selina leaned back in the arbor where they were again sitting, and sighed. Her freckled face creased. “Oh, if such a thing would only happen to me!”
A silence fell while Selina contemplated this glorious prospect and Joanna looked out over the garden. Gradually, Selina came back to earth. She blinked, then said suddenly, “Oh, Joanna, I meant to tell you first thing. Have you heard what she has done now?”
“Who?”
“She. Peter’s wife.”
“No, what?” asked Joanna with more interest.
Selina’s eyes widened and she leaned forward. “She went to Reverend Williston and positively insisted on becoming head of the relief committee. She told him that she wanted to take her place as the ‘chief lady of the neighborhood’ and do her part in helping others. Can you credit it? Chief indeed. I wonder what Mrs. Townsend and your mother will have to say to that?”
Though shocked, Joanna tried to be fair. “Well, it is true that Peter’s house is the largest in the neighborhood, except the Abbey, of course, though that hardly counts now. And was not Peter’s mother the head of the committee?”
“Oh, I daresay. She may well have the right, Joanna. But to go to the rector and say so! I think she is quite vulgar. What can one expect, after all, from the daughter of a merchant?”
Joanna began to giggle. “Highty-tighty,” she said.
Selina looked indignant, then she too laughed. “Well, I still think it was horrid. And of course, Reverend Williston is so persuadable that he agreed at once. Mrs. Williston is to give way.”
Joanna shook her head. “Where do you hear these things, Selina? I declare, you always know everything that happens.”
Selina flushed a little. “Our housekeeper…” she began.
“Is a friend of the Williston’s housekeeper,” finished Joanna laughingly. “How lucky that Mrs. Jenkins is such a friendly soul.”
A little resentful, the other girl said, “You are very merry today, Joanna. What has become of your broken heart?”
Joanna sat up straight and frowned. “There is no need to fly into a pelter. I was only bamming you.” She considered for a moment, then added, “You know, I begin to wonder if my heart is broken.”
“Joanna!” gasped her friend.
“Well, I do. I cannot believe that it is, for I no longer feel that my life is over, or that I shall never be happy again, or any of those things. Sometimes I feel quite happy. And I often forget about Peter for hours at a time.”
Selina clasped her hands. “Can it be that you mistook your heart?”
“Perhaps. When I saw his wife, do you know, I felt only a kind of pity for Peter. I didn’t like her, of course, but I didn’t hate her either. Do you suppose my mother was right and I shall recover now that he is married?”
Selina frowned. “It seems so, so…”
Joanna nodded, and both girls contemplated the garden. They had not yet solved the problem when they were joined by Joanna’s mother, who came out of the French doors from the morning room with a sheet of paper in her hand and walked toward them. She was also frowning.
“Joanna,” she said when she reached the arbor, “what is the Townsend boy’s first name? It is ridiculous, but I cannot recall.”
“Jack,” answered Joanna.
“Of course. It is unaccountable how one can forget the most familiar things. I could not remember.” She turned as if to go back into the house.
“Is that your guest list for the party?” blurted Selina.
Mrs. Rowntree looked up. “Oh, hello, Selina,” she said. “I thought you had gone. Yes, I am just preparing the invitations. It is to be Tuesday this week.” She turned to Joanna. “Your father is starting to organize his digging at the Abbey, so we must have the thing soon if we are to have it at all. He will be too engrossed within a very short time, I imagine, to tolerate any interruption.”
“Oh, it is so exciting,” exclaimed Selina. “I hope my mother will let me come.”
Mrs. Rowntree smiled. “I do not see why she should not. It will not be a formal evening. A little dancing, perhaps, among childhood acquaintances.”
“Oh, Mrs. Rowntree, you will tell her so, won’t you?” said the girl. “If you ask her, she is bound to approve.”
“I shall tell her what I plan,” laughed the woman, “and she will decide for herself.”
“If only I may come,” repeated Selina. “Dancing!”
At that moment, Mr. Rowntree’s voice was heard calling to his wife, and she went back toward the house. Selina also rose. “I must go,” she said regretfully. “I promised to be home in time for tea.”
“I shall walk with you part of the way,” said Joanna.
The two girls set out accordingly, after bonnets and shawls had been found and donned. They strolled across the fields, chatting lazily. When they were about halfway to the Grants’, Joanna stopped and said good-bye. She had turned to start home again, when someone called her name and she saw Constance Williston approaching from the other side. “Hello,” called Constance. “Are you walking home? I am on my way to Mrs. Rouse’s again.”
The two girls waited until she came up with them. Selina seemed both surprised and a little annoyed.
“How lucky,” continued Constance when she reached them. “I was just thinking what a dull walk I had ahead. Or are you going the other way?”
“No, I am going home,” said Joanna. “I was just walking part way with Selina.”
“Splendid.”
There was a pause. “Well, good-bye again, Selina,” added Joanna. “I shall see you soon.”
“You might come home to tea with me,” said Selina suddenly. “I am sure Mother would be glad to see you.”
“I cannot,” replied Joanna, surprised. “I am expected at home.”
“We could send a note round.”
Puzzled by her friend’s insistence, Joanna shook her head. “I cannot today.”
“Oh, very well,” snapped Selina, and she turned and flounced away.
The other two stared after her. Constance was silent, but Joanna said, “What can be the matter with her?”
They walked for a time in silence, then Constance ventured that it was a lovely day, and they agreed that the spell of perfect weather could not last. These commonplace remarks eased the atmosphere, and soon they were chatting easily. Joanna asked Constance about her school and was told what it was like, and in her turn, Constance inquired about some of the young people in the neighborhood. She had known them as a child, of course, but Joanna had seen them grow up through the past four years, so she had much to tell. To Joanna’s surprise, she found that Constance had a lively sense of the ridiculous.
“Do you remember,” asked Constance, “when your brother Gerald and Gregory Townsend took one of the Townsends’ farm horses and tried to make it jump the Abbey wall? I never laughed so much in my life. The horse was so large and stolid and wholly uninterested in anything but the grass by the roadside, yet Gregory and Gerald kept mounting up and urging it to try the wall.” Her laughter began to overcome her.
Joanna smiled. “I had forgotten. How silly they were. Anyone might have known that that horse would never jump.”
“Yes,” gasped Constance, “but they were forbidden to take out the hunters because they had lamed Falcon on another wall. I shall never forget their solemn discussion about whether their ‘word’ included the farm horses also. They had promised not to go riding for two weeks, remember?”
Joanna shook her head. “What a memory you have. I had forgotten it all. But now I recall that the old horse finally just walked back to her stable, after she had eaten all the grass she wanted.”
Constance nodded with brimming eyes, and the two girls dissolved in laughter.
When they had recovered their breath, Constance said, “Gerald is still at Oxford, I believe?”
“Yes, he is trying for a fellowship, and Gregory has gone into the army. How long ago it all seems.”
“He is, ah, studying classics?”
“What? Oh, Gerald? Yes, classics. Can you imagine how dull it must be?”
Constance looked down. “It is fortunate, though, that he is so close. You can visit him.”
“I?” said Joanna, amused, “He would not be overglad to see me at his chambers, I daresay. He thinks me quite silly.”
Constance flushed a little. “I meant that he could visit his family now and then, and, and get away from his studies.”
“As if he would wish to. But yes, he does come to see Papa and join in his Philosophical Society. They go on for hours about the most ridiculous things.”
Constance made no reply, and soon after, they reached the place where she was to turn off the path. The two girls said good-bye, Joanna thinking to herself that she liked Constance much more than she would have expected. She was invited to the rectory for tea the following week and accepted happily, glad to further her acquaintance with this pleasant girl.
When Joanna reached her own house and went into the hall, she nearly collided with Jonathan Erland, who was just coming out of the study. “Oh, hello,” she said, startled.
He bowed slightly. “Good day. I have been with your father, discussing his plans for my grounds. They are extensive. I fear you will find me under foot here often in the next few weeks.”
“Ah, well,” was the only reply Joanna could think of. “Will you come upstairs?” she added. “My mother is probably in the drawing room.”
“Thank you,” replied Erland. “For a moment, perhaps.”
They walked up the stairs, but Mrs. Rowntree was not in the empty drawing room. Joanna felt extremely awkward. She took off her bonnet, but could not decide where to put it. She looked about nervously and at last set it on a table by the door. Hesitating again, she finally went to the sofa and sat down. Why had she asked the man to come up, she wondered?
Erland joined her. “Your father is very eager to begin his scheme,” he told her. “He wants to go over the entire ruin, clear it out, and catalogue the contents of each section.”
“Why?” asked Joanna before she thought. She flushed a little.
But he smiled. “Perhaps the untidiness offends his scientific sensibilities,” he suggested.
Joanna looked at him dubiously, then giggled, shaking her head.
“No, you are right. He wishes to see what has been left there, and perhaps find out something about the lives of the monks. It was monks, by the by; one of the Oxford gentlemen has ascertained that. Indeed, this whole scheme owes much to his enthusiasm. Do you know him? Templeton, the name was.”
Joanna shook her head again.
“Ah, just as well perhaps.” His eyes twinkled as he smiled at her.
“Why?” asked Joanna again, returning his smile with real amusement.
“You are always eager to know why, are you not? I think you are more your father’s daughter than you know. Well, young Templeton is awfully wrapped up in his studies. He is writing a book on English life in the time of Elizabeth I, and as far as I can tell, thinks of nothing else. He would not pay proper attention to a lovely young girl if he were forced upon one. I’m certain he would prose on for hours about Spanish diplomacy and the economic purposes of royal progresses.”
Joanna had blushed a little at the compliment, but now she laughed aloud. “And what were they?”
“What were what?”
“The—the economic purposes.”
Erland shrugged comically. “I haven’t the faintest notion. I must confess I deserted him when he began on that. You must ask your brother Gerald; he listens to Templeton, I believe.”
Joanna thought this very likely. “I can’t bear students,” she said.
He laughed. “Indeed? Why not?”
“They are so young and silly. None of them has the least polish or address. And though that is only what one may expect from gentlemen who have never been to London, I suppose, still it is so uninteresting.” Feeling very grown-up, Joanna tossed her head.
Erland’s smile had faded a little. “You think a sojourn in London is vital then?”
“Oh, yes. No one can be truly elegant and assured without.”
“And that is important?”
His tone was so odd that Joanna stared at him. “Of course.” She suddenly remembered that Mr. Erland had never been to London. “Now that you are back in England,” she added kindly, “you will have the opportunity to see what I mean.”
“Undoubtedly.” He smiled ruefully. “Though a trip to town is very expensive, I believe.”
Joanna leaned forward. “But indispensable.”
“Indeed.”
There was a pause. Joanna, a little abashed by her own vehemence, sat back, wondering what to say next. Erland appeared deep in thought. Some new idea seemed have occurred to him. But at last, he looked up. “Talking of fashion, I wanted to ask your advice on something, Miss Joanna.”
Joanna raised her eyebrows, but before he could go on, the drawing-room door opened and Mr. Rowntree hurried in.
“Erland, thank heaven!” he exclaimed. “I thought you had gone, but one of the maids said you had come upstairs. Something has just struck me.”
The younger man had risen and now replied politely, “Yes, sir?”
Rowntree distractedly ran a hand through his thin brown hair and blurted, “Shovels.”
Joanna and Erland blinked.
Seeing that they didn’t understand, Rowntree repeated, “Shovels. And I daresay trowels and rakes and all manner of other things. Where are we to get them?”
Erland’s face cleared. “Ah, for the digging, you mean.”
“Of course. It came to me just now. We shall need a great many tools, I suppose, and some workmen. We can do some of the digging, but not all.” He frowned and shook his head.
“There is quite a pile of gardening tools in a shed at the Abbey,” said the other. “It looks as if they had an army of gardeners years ago. Some of them are a bit rusty, but I daresay they will do.”
“Splendid,” cried Mr. Rowntree.
“As for workmen, that is more difficult. Old Ernst, my gardener, will help us now and then, I suppose, and perhaps your man also. But other than that, I do not know. We may pay some workmen, I daresay?” This last remark was tentative.
Rowntree frowned again. “No, no, we cannot do that. My other experiments require all of my extra funds at present.” He thought for a moment, then made an airy gesture. “Well, we shall simply have to dig ourselves,” he said. “There is nothing for it. I daresay it will be good for us all.” And having reached this conclusion, he turned and left the room without another word.
When he was gone, Erland smiled ironically. “I wonder how Templeton will like that,” he said. “He did not seem to me the sort of young man who likes to dig. I wonder if he has ever held a shovel?”
“Have you?” asked Joanna.
He turned back to her, his smile gone. “Indeed, I have. Do you forget that I am a colonial? I have held and used a shovel, an axe, a long rifle, and many other very ungenteel implements. I shall be your father’s chief digger, I wager.” He looked directly into her eyes.
For some reason, his cool gray gaze made Joanna uncomfortable. “Father did not mean…” she began.
But Erland held up a hand. “I have the greatest respect for Mr. Rowntree.”
Joanna found this reply somewhat unsatisfactory, though she did not know why. But before she could speak, he went on. “And now, I want your advice.”
She stared at him. No one had ever asked for her advice before.
“Your mother has been telling me, you know, about this party she plans. It sounds splendid, and I am very grateful. Indeed, I should like to repay her hospitality and entertain my neighbors, perhaps. So, I have evolved a scheme.”
“What?” said Joanna when he paused.
He smiled. “I thought I would stage a picnic at the Abbey, perhaps next month. We might wander about the ruins, you see, and eat our dinners sitting on mossy old stones.” He looked at her expectantly. “What do you think?”
“I?” Joanna was nonplussed.
“Yes. I want your opinion. Do you think it a good idea? Will it be suitable? The interior of the house is so run-down, I cannot hold any gathering there. This seemed just the ticket. But will it do?”
“Oh, yes. It sounds splendid.”
He eyed her narrowly. “There’s no need to be polite, you know. I have been out of the country for so long that I know nothing about fashionable amusements.” He grimaced. “Never did, if the truth be told. So, I wish to know if a picnic is all right.”
Joanna had recovered from her surprise. “Oh, yes,” she assured him. “It is all the crack just now. Everyone will like it excessively.”
Erland looked at her, then nodded. “Good. I will set things in motion. Mrs. Smith will no doubt have the vapors.”
Joanna laughed, a vivid picture of the old housekeeper’s probable reaction in her mind.
“Exactly,” said Erland, “but have no fear, I shall win through.”
“When will it be?”
“Well, your mother’s party is next week, I believe, so mine shall not be for another two weeks after that. I do not wish people’s memories of your mother’s perfectly-run household to be too bright. The contrast will be shocking, I fear. So, say the middle of July, then.”
“Perhaps the ruins will be cool,” offered Joanna.
“Precisely, I shall put that on my invitation cards.”
“How absurd you are.”
“I?” He feigned astonishment. “Not at all. I am the most commonplace of men.”
Joanna merely shook her head, and Erland rose. “I must go,” he added. “I have neglected a great many unpleasant duties already this morning, and now I must attend to some of them.”
Joanna rose also, and they started toward the door.
“By-the-by,” continued the man as they reached it, “I do not wish to reveal my plan for a picnic just yet. I must see first whether it can be done. Can we make it our secret for a while?”
Joanna cocked her head. “If you wish.”
He smiled. “You must help me with the arrangements, and when they are complete, we shall unveil the scheme to the world.”
The girl did not know exactly how to take this. She wondered if her mother would approve of her planning a party for a single gentleman. But she could think of no reply, so said only, “I will not mention it.”
Erland bowed slightly, then took his leave. Joanna watched him run lightly down the stairs before she picked up her bonnet and went up to her bedroom to put it away.