Marmaduke Part 25

It was an unwise remark, for it hastened what she wished to avoid.

"Ower much, mayhap," put in Andrew, taking a step nearer her, his little grey eyes looking at her with pathetic earnestness. "Marrion, my dear," he went on, "I've helt ma tongue a' these years, relying on your word that ye had your lines safe. Not that they matter sae much, since I can swear to yer bein' man and wife--aye, and mayhap bring ithers tae swear it, too. But I'm no satisfied, an' that's G.o.d's truth. Ye ken fine that by a' the laws o' G.o.d and man ye're bound together, an' surely ye're no seekin' to get past the responsibility that ye took upon yersels?"

There was something merciless in the stern solid figure before her; but Marrion had courage, and faced her task.

"Sit down, Andrew, and let me explain," she began, but he stood to attention more rigidly, and with a forecast of failure in her mind she went through the whole set of arguments she had used with success on Marmaduke. But here she had different metal to weld.

"Ye took it upon yersels," he reiterated. "It was the Lord's doin'

that the poor wee bairnie didna live. It's ill tryin' tae get the better o' Providence."

The hopelessness of influencing him made her at last try an appeal to his personal devotion to her; but his reply sent her crimson to her very heart-strings.

"That's neither here nor there, Marrion. If ye was twenty times free by yere ain makin', I wadna take yer love at a gift."

The most she could get out of him was a promise to wait and say nothing till there was more than mere servants'-hall gossip to go by.

He left her wearied and vexed, sorry that she had not been able to get him to hear reason, yet knowing that she was sure of her own ground, since, if she and Duke both refused to acknowledge marriage there could be no possible claim by anyone else. Only to take up this ground would, she foresaw, make Andrew into an enemy. Besides, it would be a confession of failure on her part, and the years had brought so much success to her in all her managements that the idea of defeat, even in a small thing, was irksome.

So for a day or two more she sat and worked while all the noise of London was deadened by the snow which defied man's effort to remove.

In her quiet little street she felt as if she were wrapped away in a white winding sheet from all the interests of the world--waiting, waiting, waiting. It would come at last, of course. The _Court Journal_ would have the announcement of an impending marriage in high life. Then, if Andrew were still inflexible, she must tell him he had no power. And then--and then--and then?

Her mind busied itself in plans, in conjectures, more from habit than from any hope of action; for in her heart of hearts she knew, and she was always telling herself, that she had said good-bye to Duke for ever.

Yet, as has been said, Fate had willed otherwise. Less than a week after Andrew's visit, she stood up, her heart beating, at a well-known step coming up two stairs at a time, and there was Duke! A Duke such as she had always dreamt he should be--radiant, rejoicing--a perfect specimen of manly beauty. He was in the full-dress uniform of his Highland regiment, and he flung his bonnet in among the laces and muslins, as if the whole world were his.

"We're off to Constantinople to-morrow," he said joyously, "and I had to come and say good-bye. Oh, my dear, my dear, what a relief it is--every way!"

She gasped.

"But war--war hasn't been declared yet!"

"And won't be for another two months," he interrupted, "but for all that we are sending our troops. It's kept secret, of course, but my regiment is in it. It seems too good to be true!"

"And--and Lady Amabel?" asked Marrion, a grip at her heart.

He laughed joyously.

"No harm done. You see the War Office told me when I got the colonelcy this was up, and it wouldn't have been fair. So we were very good friends. She is a dear little girl, and if I come home--but that's to be seen. Now, ah, how glad I am to be free!"

The words cut deep, spoiling the relief at Marrion's heart; but, after all, why should he not be glad? He was going to do a man's work.

"I'm glad you have the colonelcy," she said soberly; it was the only consolation she could find for herself.

"Glad!" he echoed. "I should think I was! It's been the dream of my life. And do you know the old man was really quite reasonable about it. We talked the thing over, and I told him what we had done, and were prepared to do--or rather not to do. Of course he was in a fury about the foreign service, but he saw I couldn't shirk, so I've promised and vowed everything he wanted. And now"--his eyes shone, content seemed to radiate from him--"I feel, Marmie, as if I were beginning a new life. I've only had to obey orders. .h.i.therto, and deuced stupid many of them have seemed to me; but now I am head and the men are splendid--they'd follow me anywhere. So--so we are going to do something, I expect."

The light in his eyes had steadied, he took up his bonnet, then stood for a moment looking at her, the embodiment of a soldier of fortune going out, careless, to seek adventure.

"And you, my dear," he said doubtfully, "are you sure you can manage?"

"Quite sure," she replied cheerfully. "Perhaps I shan't stop here. I may want to see the world, too."

He laughed.

"I believe you'd like to don boy's clothes like Rosalind and follow me to the wars! By Jove, what a Rosalind you'd make!"

His happy carelessness hurt.

"You forget I am lame," she said, a trifle bitterly.

His face fell.

"That isn't kind," he protested, "not at the last! Don't send me away feeling that I have been a ruffian to you."

Her composure gave way then. With a little cry she put her arms round his neck and kissed him.

"You have nothing to reproach yourself with, my dear, my dear!

Go!--forget all about women! Go! You've done your best, so fight your best!"

He gave her back her kiss as he might have given it to his sister.

"Yes, Marmie," he said, "I'm beginning to think we really did the right thing, for we can be friends all the same; for the present, at any rate."

His mixture of wisdom and foolishness made her smile at him, as some mothers might smile at a high-spirited boy, and she watched his martial figure go swinging down the street, its flamboyance admissible, admirable, and told herself it was good that he was free both of herself and Lady Amabel.

CHAPTER V

He sent her a letter from Malta, a very long letter crossed and recrossed. Evidently time had hung heavy on hand once the wonders of being on a steamship had pa.s.sed. "It will revolutionise war," he wrote, "if we can rely on getting reinforcements regularly. It was different when we had to count on hurricanes and doldrums." And he had a quick eye for weak points in the armour. "Here we are after eleven days' hard steam, and here, so far as any one knows, we are likely to remain. Nothing seems to have been arranged for a forward movement; neither has any provision been made for the hunger of fifteen thousand troops plumped down on a practically desert island. However, they say a cattle transport is immediately expected from Alexandria, so we should have enough beef. Meanwhile, the recent order that neither officers nor men should appear out of uniform gives colour and variety to the streets of Valetta; notably when they are tramped by Yours affectionately."

It was not till late in April that he could send her his impressions of Gallipoli.

"Take the dilapidated out-houses of a real old English farmyard, add to them every seedy, cracked, ricketty, wooden structure to be found in our slums, with a sprinkling of Thames-side huts, and tumble them all down higgledy-piggledy on a bare round hill sloping to the sea, scatter about a few slender white minarets, and you have the town--a place without shade, without water, without food. We can, of course, do the Kilkenny cat trick, but is it not astounding, is it not incredible, that such mistakes should be made? However, an enterprising entrepreneur from Smyrna (Jew, of course) is transforming a battered old ruin into a 'Restaurant de l'Armee Auxiliare' as the legend runs, done with a thumb in lamp-black!"

Already "considerable difference of opinion" existed as to the choice of Gallipoli as the headquarters of the army, and the mere watering "of thirty-five thousand troops" presented difficulty.

And always and always came the same refrain of chafed patience at being enmeshed in the mistakes of others. "The stores sent for the commissariat are beneath contempt. I let out at the quartermaster for the filthy stuff he was serving out, and he a.s.sured me it was the best he could get. Conningsby of the Hussars tells me half the bales of hay sent out as forage have centres of wood shavings. Why isn't someone hanged?"

Marrion Paul, as she read these two effusions, felt vaguely that the gilt was wearing off the gingerbread. The man's buoyant hopes were being dashed by the inept.i.tude of those above him. It was a pity, for she knew, none better, that underneath all his boyish lightheartedness Marmaduke Muir had the knack of making men obey him and follow him.

She pictured him leading his regiment into fight and she could see it, mastered, dominated, held in hand by that cheerful voice, that merry face.

She waited some time for the next bulletin and when it came it was short. "The devil's own snowstorm greeted our arrival here--Scutari.

I've seldom seen it worse in Aberdeenshire. The north wind blew big guns, we were unable to disembark, and half of us--including yours truly--were sea-sick. Doing nothing, even without enough to eat, doesn't suit Marmaduke Muir. The barracks here are huge; they will hold eighteen thousand troops, they say. I know one unit of a thousand--only about seven hundred and fifty I fear now--that would be right glad to go anywhere else; anywhere where there was something to be done. Nigh four months since we left Portsmouth, and, for all the use I've been, I might as well have enjoyed the trout-fishing on the Don."

That was the third of the slender envelopes marked "From the British Army in the East" which reached her.

The next was sealed with a black seal and was full of pious reflections upon death; for the news of his elder brother Pitt's demise had just reached Marmaduke and roused his sense of responsibilities. "In times like these," he wrote, "one feels the impotence of man--and woman also," he added, "though you, my dear Marrion, had a wonderful knack of clarifying the muddles. Andrew does not darn my stockings half so well as you did."