He
tried to "isolate" me, as if I'd been a microbe while we were still at
Soissons, and again just after Father Beckett and Brian went away from
Amiens in the big gray car. There was something, something very special
that he wished to say to me, I could tell by his eyes. But I contrived
to thwart him. I never left Mother Beckett for a moment!
The first day at Amiens it was easy to keep out of his way altogether,
for I was nurse as well as friend, and my dear little invalid was worn
out after the journey from Soissons. She asked nothing better than to
stop in her room. The next day, however, exciting news acted upon her
like a tonic. The Amiens address had been wired to Paris, and in
addition to a mass of letters (mostly for Father Beckett) there was a
telegram from the Chateau d'Andelle, despatched by an agency messenger,
who had been sent to Normandy. All was going well. The house would be
ready on the date named. Two large boxes from the Ritz had safely
arrived by _grande vitesse_.
"Darling Jimmy's own things!" Mother Beckett explained to me. "Do you
remember my telling you we'd brought over to France the treasures out of
his den at home?"
I did remember. (Do I ever forget anything she says about Jim?)
"They were to be a surprise for him when he came to see us," his mother
went on, tears misting the blueness of her eyes. "Not furniture, you
know, but just the little things he loved best in his rooms: some he had
when he was a child, and others when he was growing up--and the picture
your brother painted.
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