The Stepson by Martin Armstrong Page B

that warmed the hearts of all those who spoke to him. That, Kate decided, must be what charmed them all – his unfailing good-humour. And yet it was not only his good-humour, for Ben, too, was good-humoured. But Ben was hard as well. There was something hard in that smartness and alertness of his; and in his passion for her, Kate felt, there was more than a trace of the cold, the hard, the brutal, beneath his cheerful kind-heartedness. But David had brought to the house the freshness and warmth of youth. It was as if spring were pouring its sweet, life-giving breath through every room and passage.

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    Each morning of that Easter-time Kate awoke to perfect happiness. The secret voice of which formerly she had been aware in her moments of solitude was now heard no more. The sorrowful ghost had been laid. It seemed to her, as she lay contemplating the window and the ceiling of the long, low bedroom during the peaceful half-hour between waking and rising, that she had fallen into harmony with the life of the earth in its springtime mood, calmly and contentedly accepting the visiting of suns and showers and the gradual process of budding and unfolding. Life was changed for her: all her being had been warmed into something fuller and richer. She thought with pleasure of the day’s work before her, of the comings and goings about the house and farm, the chance meetings, as each of them went about his particular business, with Ben, Mrs. Jobson, George the hind, and Peter the boy; but especially with David, for it was David, she felt, who had brought this rarer harmony among them, and had brought to her the one indefinable element that life had hitherto lacked.
    Kate had no idea what it was that David did that kept him always occupied during those few days he was at The Grange; but then she did not know exactly what Ben did either. Except for her own particular work and the work of the house and dairy,the running of the farm was still something of a mystery to her, a vague activity among carts and ploughs; cows, horses and sheep; hay, straw, oats and turnips. But that David was always occupied was certain from the talks between himself and Ben, and from her chance meetings with him here and there about the farm. More than once she met him riding out of the yard on a horse, and stopped to watch him admiringly as he trotted away with that assured, easy movement of his body, as though he and the horse were one creature. A few hours later she heard the sound of hoofs in the yard. He was back again, and looking from the parlour window she saw him swing out of the saddle. A few minutes later he would cross the yard, carrying the saddle and bridle, and soon afterwards would enter the parlour.
    â€˜Are you fond of riding?’ Kate asked him once, seeing the healthy glow on his face.
    â€˜Oh, it’s all right for getting about,’ he said. ‘Quicker than walking!’ and it seemed wonderful to her that he should consider riding an ordinary and practical affair and not an accomplishment to be proud of. What a thrilling and perilous adventure it would have seemed to her, and how proud of herself she would be if she were a good horsewoman.
    Ben came briskly into the parlour, rubbing his hands. ‘Hello!’ he said. ‘Been down to Green Lane?’
    David smiled. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I just rode over for an hour or two.’
    â€˜I saw Bob Reed last Wednesday at Elchester,’ said Ben; ‘but it’s a tidy time since I was over at Green Lane. How are they getting on? All well, eh?’ He turned away, as he so often did, without waiting for a reply, and stepped over to the mantelpiece to get his pipe.
    Kate always felt half amused and half annoyed when Ben did that. Why did he ask questions if he didn’t want a reply? It was part and parcel of that underlying hardness of his. But David did not seem to notice it. He had not, apparently, thought of replying to Ben’s question. He