iii It was Sunday evening between five and six.
Anne was in the house, in the great Jacobean room on the first floor.
Barker had judged it too large and too dilapidated to live in, and it
had been left empty in his time. Eliot had had it restored and Jerrold
had furnished it. Black oak bookcases from the Manor stretched along
the walls, for Jerrold had given Eliot half of their father's books.
This room would be too dilapidated to live in, and it had been left
empty in his time. Eliot had had it restored and Jerrold had furnished
it. Black oak bookcases from the Manor stretched along the walls, for
Jerrold had given Eliot half of their father's books. This room would be
Eliot's library when he came down. It was now Anne's sitting-room.
The leaded windows were thrown open to the grey evening and a drizzling
rain; but a fire blazed on the great hearth under the arch of the carved
stone chimney-piece. Anne's couch was drawn up before it. She lay
stretched out on it, tired with her week's work.
She was all alone in the house. The gardener and his wife went out
together every Sunday to spend the evening with their families at
Medlicote or Wyck. She was not sorry when they were gone; the stillness
of the house rested her. But she missed Colin. Last Sunday he had been
there, sitting beside her in his chair by the hearth, reading. Today he
was with Jerrold at the Manor. The soft drizzle turned to a quick patter
of rain; a curtain of rain fell, covering the grey fields between the
farm and the Manor, cutting her off.
She was listening to the rain when she heard the click of the gate and
feet on the garden path. They stopped on the flagstones under her
window. Jerrold's voice called up to her.
"Anne--Anne, are you there? Can I come up?"
"Rather."
He came rushing up the stairs. He was in the room now.
"How nice of you to come on this beastly evening."
"That's why I came. I thought it would be so rotten for you all alone
down here."
"What have you done with Colin?"
"Left him up there. He was making no end of a row on the piano."
"Oh Jerrold, if he's playing again he'll be all right."
"He didn't sound as if there was much the matter with him."
"You never can tell. He can't stand those tractors."
"We must keep him away from the beastly things. I suppose we've got to
have 'em?"
"I'm afraid so. They save no end of labour, and labour's short and
dear."
"Is that why you've been working yourself to death?"
"I haven't. Why, do I look dead?"