A Question of Marriage Part 9

Piers looked at her, and as he did so there arose in his mind the swift remembrance of her face as she had sat upon the pebbly beach a few days before--the face on which he had read tragedy. Remorse seized him. He hastened to retrieve his mistake.

"Forgive me. You are quite right--the scene is not appropriate. Miss Strangeways, by the laws of appreciation, this glen is yours. I have a conviction that these trees recognise you as their queen. Lay down a law, and we will keep it. Come what may, when you and I enter this glen, we will leave our troubles behind. It shall be a s.p.a.ce apart, in which to be busy over nothing but being happy. We will talk of happy things, happy memories, happy prospects; best of all, the happy present.

It shall be a sin against the realm and its sovereign to mention one painful fact. Is it agreed?"

Vanna looked around with wistful glance.

"The Happy Land! That is a charming idea--to keep one spot on earth sacred to happiness! Why has not one thought of that before? Yes, indeed, Mr Rendall, I'll agree. The only pity is that I shall be here so seldom. One ought to keep one's happy land within reach."

"I hope you may come more often than you think. Mr Goring is talking of buying the Cottage, and if that comes off you will be constantly with them. My visits also are only occasional. For nine months of the year I am in town. It will be an extra attraction to come down to a place where I am bound to be happy. Where is your settled home?"

"I have no home at present."

Vanna vouchsafed no further explanation, and Piers did not ask for one, for which she was grateful. More than once this tactful reservation of the obvious had arrested her attention, and been mentally noted as the man's best point. Vanna felt sorry for him, tender over him, as a woman will do over something that is suffering or weak. The nervous, restless face looked far indeed from content, yet he had declared that if he had power to wish he would not know what to desire. That might mean that he was dwelling in that unrecognised stage of love, that period of discomfort, doubt, and upheaval, which precedes the final illumination.

It would go hard with him if he loved and were disappointed. She put the thought aside with resolute effort. Was not the glen dedicated to happy thoughts?

The half-hour slipped quickly away, and presently Jean herself descended to seat herself on the bench by Vanna's side, and take the conversation under her own control. At four o'clock they returned to the house, mounting the steep path, and entering with a sigh the stiff precincts of the garden.

On the verandah the two stout, black-robed figures of the old ladies could be seen reposing in their wickerwork chairs, but, behold, the distance between those chairs was largely increased, and between the two, the obvious centre of attraction, sat a third form--a masculine form, clad in light grey clothes, towards whom both glances were directed, who gesticulated with his hands, and bent from side to side.

The face of this newcomer could not be distinguished; his figure was half hidden by the encircling chairs.

"Who the d.i.c.kens?" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Piers blankly. He stared beneath frowning brows, searching memory, without response. "None of the neighbours.

Some one from town. How has he come?"

Vanna looked, but without interest. In a short time the carriage would be at the door to carry the three ladies back to the cottage by the sea.

The advent of a stranger could not affect them for good or ill. She turned to exchange a casual remark with Jean, and behold, Jean's cheeks were damask--flaming, as if with a fever. Now what was this? The effect of that nap on the mossy ground? But not a moment before Jean's colour had been normal. Had anything been said to arouse her wrath?

Was she by chance annoyed at this interruption to the visit? And then, nearer already by a score of yards, Vanna turned once more towards the verandah, and understood. There, sandwiched between the two old ladies, smiling, debonair, at ease, a stranger, yet apparently on terms of easy friendship, sat--not the wraith of Robert Gloucester, as for a moment seemed the only possible explanation, but the man himself, in veritable flesh and blood. Incredible, preposterous as it appeared, it was nevertheless true. One could not doubt the evidence of one's own senses, of the eyes which beheld him, the ears which listened to his words, as in characteristic simplicity he offered his explanation.

"How do you do? You are surprised to see me here. I came down by the twelve train. Mr Goring and I have arranged to have some fishing together. I'm putting up at the inn. I called at the Cottage and found you were out. The maid told me where you were to be found, and I thought I would walk over, and perhaps have the pleasure of escorting you home. I have introduced myself as you see!" So far he had addressed himself pointedly to Vanna, casting never a glance in the direction of Jean, but now he turned towards Piers with the frankest of smiles. "My name's Gloucester. I'm just home from abroad. I'm going to fish with Mr Goring. Hope you don't mind my intruding. I am at a loose end down here."

"Not at all--not at all! Pleased to see you. Sit down. We'll have some tea." Piers spoke cordially; what was more to the point, he looked cordial into the bargain. Of a shy, reserved nature, cherishing an active dislike of strangers, he yet appeared to find nothing extraordinary or offensive in the intrusion of this man "just home from abroad," who had raided his mother's privacy in the hope of gaining for himself the pleasure of meeting her invited guests. Vanna looked past him to the faces of the two old ladies seated on the basket chairs, and beheld them benign, smiling, unperturbed. They also had fallen beneath the spell of Gloucester's personality, and had placidly accepted his explanations. Jean walked to the farthest of the row of chairs, pushed it back out of the line of vision, and seated herself in silence. Piers strolled towards the house to hurry the arrival of tea, and Miggles declared genially:

"So nice for gentlemen to fish! Such an interest, especially getting on in years like Mr Goring. Gout, you know! such a handicap. I believe the inn is comfortable. Quite clean; but always mutton. You will have to take meals with us."

"I--I've lost my handkerchief. I'll look upstairs," mumbled Vanna hurriedly. She dived through the open window, fled upstairs to the shelter of the bedroom where she had laid aside her wraps three hours before, and sinking down on the bed pressed both hands against her lips.

For the first time for many weeks, laughter overcame her in paroxysms which could not be repressed. She laughed and laughed; the tears poured down her cheeks; she laughed again and again.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

A NARROW ESCAPE.

Suddenly Jean wrapped herself in a mantle of reserve. Not even to Vanna, her chosen confidante, did she express surprise at Gloucester's sudden appearance, or make one single comment, favourable or the reverse. Driving home in Mrs Rendall's carriage, she maintained her fair share in the conversation, and betrayed no sign of embarra.s.sment.

That she was embarra.s.sed Vanna knew by the tone of her voice, which was wont to take a higher, shriller note on such occasions; but neither Gloucester nor Miggles was likely to recognise so subtle a betrayal.

The old lady was evidently greatly taken with the new acquaintance, and invited him to dinner at the end of the drive.

"We are only three women, very dull for a young man, but as you are alone in the inn--so unhomelike, inn-parlours!--if you _would_ care to dine at seven o'clock, pot luck, just a simple meal! Don't dress; it's a picnic life down here, and the girls like to run about as long as it keeps light."

Miggles had reigned as mistress of Mr Goring's home for so many years that, failing the second wife's presence, she still managed the household, without any attempt at interference from her old pupil. Jean had no ambition for domestic responsibilities; looking after a house was dull, stodgy work, Miggles liked it, then for goodness' sake let her do it; she had no wish to exercise her prerogative. It was Miggles, therefore, who gave the newcomer his first invitation to the Cottage, but when Robert's eyes turned to the girl with an involuntary question, Jean was ready with a gracious support.

"We are very quiet, as Miss Miggs says. Next week father brings down the family, and it will be livelier; but if you care to risk it, we shall be pleased."

"Seven o'clock. Thank you!" said Robert simply. He took his leave for the time being, and the ladies entered the Cottage.

"We had better get our letters written, as we shall not have time later on," said Jean calmly. Even when seated with Vanna at the same writing-table she made no reference to the event of the afternoon. It might have been the most natural thing in the world for Robert Gloucester to leave his old friends in less than a week after his return from India, in order to have the privilege of fishing with a strange elderly gentleman. When the letters were finished, she talked on indifferent subjects, gaily, lovingly, intimately as ever, yet with a certain carriage of the head, a set of the lips which seemed to send forth an unspoken warning, "Until now my heart has lain bare before you, but to-day there has entered into it something so intimate, so sacred, that it cannot be revealed to any human gaze. _Touch me not_!" And Vanna understood, and was silent.

Robert Gloucester came back to dinner and sat at the head of the table opposite Miggles, the two girls seated one on either side. A bowl of roses stood in the centre of the table; roses twined round the framework of the opened window; tiny sprays of roses wandered over the muslin of Jean's gown. They talked of books, of pictures, of foreign lands, of things extraordinary, and things prosaic. When Robert recounted experiences abroad, the two girls questioned him as to scenery and environment, and Miggles wished to know what he had had to eat, and if there was any means of drying his clothes.

Gloucester also entered into details about his business life, and the failure of his investments, explaining his present monetary position with an incredible frankness.

"It seemed an awfully good thing, perfectly sound, but it came a jolly big crash. I was fortunate to get out of it as well as I did. I haven't been fortunate in my speculations. Between them I've dropped almost all my capital. I have a share or two in a bank paying rattling good interest, and the firm pay me a fair salary, and that's all that is left."

"Oh, we know you don't mean _that_," laughed Miggles easily. "It will all go on quite nicely, I am sure, and you will be settling down and marrying, of course."

"Of course," said Robert Gloucester.

There was something so exquisitely unusual about his frank avowal of poverty that Vanna had hard work to keep a straight face. What to another man would have been a secret between himself and his banker weighed so heavily on Robert Gloucester's candid soul that he must needs blurt it out on the first possible occasion. Vanna knew intuitively the exact workings of his mind: he had come down to Seacliff to woo Jean for his wife. Jean must know from the beginning exactly what he had to offer; not for a single evening could she be allowed to think of him in a setting which did not exist. "He had not been lucky in his speculations." Unnecessary explanation! It was from guileless natures such as his that the fraudulent made their h.o.a.rds. The national savings bank would be the only safe resting-place for Robert Gloucester's money.

When the simple meal was over the two girls accompanied their guest into the garden and sat beside him while he smoked. He neither offered cigarettes to them, nor did they dream of providing them on their own account. In the seventies it was still a rare and petrifying experience to see a young girl smoke. The heroine of to-day is depicted to us as making dainty play with her cigarette, or blowing smoke-rings with unequalled grace. If the tips of her fingers are also stained yellow with nicotine, and her clothes diffuse an atmosphere of a smoking-carriage, these details are mercifully concealed. Jean and Vanna at least had no hankerings after this masculine amus.e.m.e.nt.

Once and again as the time pa.s.sed by, Robert looked fixedly at Vanna, and grey eyes and brown exchanged an unspoken duel. "Leave us alone!"

entreated the brown. "You know; you understand! As you are wise be merciful..."

"Not one step!" replied the grey. "Here I am, and here I stay. This is my post, and I will stick to it."

"Be hanged to your post! You take too much upon yourself. Hand over your post to me. Think of the difficulties, the contrivings, the explainings I have had to undergo before getting away from town!"

"You had no business to leave..."

Vanna stuck obstinately to her guns, and at last Gloucester abandoned his efforts. Another man would have been angry, impatient, would have eyed her with cold antagonism, but Robert betrayed no irritation.

Rather did his brown eyes dilate with mischievous amus.e.m.e.nt as they met her own.

"Please yourself," they seemed to say. "Do your little best. Erect your puny barriers. A day or two more or less--what does it matter?

The end is sure."

The Cottage with its sloping garden was perched high on the side of one of two outstanding cliffs which formed a deep, narrow bay. So far did these chalk-walls jut out, so narrow was the s.p.a.ce between, that the view from the land had a confined, stage-like effect. The coast-line on either side was completely hidden from sight, only the blue-green waters stretched ahead, but these waters were one of the highways of a nation's life, and o'er its surface all kinds of craft pa.s.sed to and fro, in endless panorama. When the tide was up, the great steamers could safely take the insh.o.r.e channel, while near at hand, and looking as if one could, in nautical language, "throw a biscuit aboard," the smaller craft plied their way to and fro. Now it would be a small sailing barge, with captain, mate, and crew, comprised in one single hand, anon a white-sailed yacht, with gleaming bra.s.s-work and spotless paint, or a coasting collier, grimy and drab, her screw out of water, as she churned her homeward way. In fine weather coasting pa.s.senger-boats ventured near sh.o.r.e, while farther off the pilot-boats of many nations could be discerned, decked with gay strings of signalling flags, and the busy tugs plied far and near, endlessly on the watch for chances of salvage.

One misty day as Jean sat perched alone on the edge of the railed-in garden, at a point from which she could have dropped a stone into the sea beneath, a smooth grey keel glided noiselessly round the corner of the cliff, and another, and yet a third--low-built, ominous-looking monsters, the colour of the fog, the colour of the waves, Her Majesty's battleships, each bearing on board its complement of seven hundred men.

To-night, as the daylight faded slowly away, the different lights at sea attracted the watching eye. From the left came a merry, starlike twinkle, as from a faithful friend who kept firmly to his post; beyond him in the dim distance was the humourist, who for ten seconds on end indulged in a stony stare, then darkened, gave two cunning winks, and so again to his stare. Right ahead was the big revolving light which, like a constable afloat, divided the traffic--"This way for the river, that for the North Sea!" High over all swung the rays from the great lighthouse on the downs.

Presently round the farther cliff came a great ocean liner, its cabin windows showing out a blaze of light, the throb, throb of its engines heard distinctly in the distance, a floating city, bearing home an army of men: the man who had toiled and reaped his reward; the man who had toiled and failed, the idler, the drone, the remittance man back again to prey on his friends; the bridegroom speeding to his bride; the trembler, to whom the wires had flashed a message of tragedy; the sinner, fleeing from justice, the pleasure lover seeking a new world.

Those brilliantly lighted rooms held them all. Up the long channel they sailed; past the shifty sand-banks, past the hidden rocks; gliding smoothly along the beaten track, while the captain stood on his bridge and grew pale beneath his tan. Until the dangerous channel was navigated, he would not leave his post.

The three who were seated on the garden bench watched the great vessel in silence until she disappeared behind the cliff.

"A week ago," said Robert softly, "a week ago I was steaming along this very coast. Only one little week!"

He broke off suddenly, and there was no response, but Vanna felt Jean's fingers twitch within her arm. Was she too beginning to realise the bearing of this week upon her own life?