The Bars of Iron Part 31

As this throbbed away into distance Tudor smiled again grimly, ironically. "Yes, you young ruffian," he said. "It's given your nerves a nasty jolt, and serves you jolly well right! I never saw any fellow in such a mortal funk before, and--from your somewhat rash remark--I gather that it's not the first lesson after all. I wonder when--and how--you killed that other man."

He was still speculating as he turned out the light and went to his room.

CHAPTER XVIII

HORNS AND HOOFS

It was the Reverend Stephen Lorimer's custom to have all letters that arrived by the morning post placed beside his breakfast plate to be sorted by him at the end of family prayers,--a custom which Gracie freely criticized in the sanctuary of the schoolroom, and which her mother in earlier days had gently and quite ineffectually tried to stop. It was always a somewhat lengthy proceeding as it entailed a careful scrutiny of each envelope, especially in the case of letters not addressed to the Reverend Stephen. He was well acquainted with the handwriting of all his wife's correspondents, and was generally ready with some shrewd guess as to their motives for writing. They were usually submitted to him for perusal as soon as she had read them herself, a habit formed by Mrs.

Lorimer when she discovered that he looked upon her correspondence as his own property and deeply resented any inclination on her part to keep it to herself.

Avery's arrival had brought an additional interest to the morning budget.

Her letters were invariably examined with bland curiosity and handed on to her with comments appropriate to their appearance. Occasionally envelopes with an Australian postmark reached her, and these always excited especial notice. The brief spell of Avery's married life had been spent in a corner of New South Wales. In the early part of their acquaintance, Mr. Lorimer had sought to draw her out on the subject of her experiences during this period, but he had found her reticent. And so whenever a letter came addressed in the strong, masculine hand of her Australian correspondent, some urbane remark was invariably made, while his small daughter Gracie swelled with indignation at the further end of the table.

"Two epistles for Mrs. Denys!" he announced, as he turned over the morning's mail at the breakfast-table two days after Christmas. "Ah, I thought our Australian friend would be calling attention to himself ere the festive season had quite departed. He writes from Adelaide on this occasion. That indicates a move if I mistake not. His usual _pied-a-terre_ has been Brisbane hitherto, has it not?"

His little dark eyes interrogated Avery for a moment before they vanished inwards with disconcerting completeness.

Avery stiffened instinctively. She was well aware that Mr. Lorimer did not like her, but the fact held no disturbing element. To her mind the dislike of the man was preferable to his favour and after all she saw but little of him.

She went on therefore with her occupation of cutting bread and b.u.t.ter for the children with no sign of annoyance save that slight, scarcely perceptible stiffening of the neck which only Gracie saw.

"I hope you are kind to your faithful correspondent," smiled Mr. Lorimer, still holding the letter between his finger and thumb. "He evidently regards your friendship as a pearl of price, and doubtless he is well-advised to do so."

Here he opened his eyes again, and sent a barbed glance at Avery's unresponsive face.

"Friendship is a beautiful thing, is it not?" he said.

"It is," said Avery, deftly cutting her fifth slice.

The Reverend Stephen proceeded with clerical fervour to embellish his subject, for no especial reason save the pleasure of listening to his own eloquence--a pleasure which never palled. "It partakes of that divine quality of charity so sadly lacking in many of us, and sheds golden beams of sunshine in the humblest earthly home. It has been aptly called the true earnest of eternity."

"Really!" said Avery.

"An exquisite thought, is it not?" said the Vicar. "Grace, my child, for the one-and-twentieth time I must beg of you not to swing your legs when sitting at table."

"I wasn't," said Gracie.

Her father's brows were elevated in surprise. His eyes as a consequence were opened rather wider than usual, revealing an unmistakably malignant gleam.

"That is not the way in which a Christian child should receive admonition," he said. "If you were not swinging your legs, you were fidgeting in a fashion which you very well know to be unmannerly. Do not let me have to complain of your behaviour again!"

Gracie's cheeks were crimson, her violet eyes blazing with resentment; and Avery, dreading an outburst, laid a gentle restraining hand upon her shoulder for an instant.

The action was well-meant, but its results were unfortunate. Gracie impulsively seized and kissed the hand with enthusiasm. "All right, Avery dear," she said with pointed docility.

Mr. Lorimer's brows rose a little higher, but being momentarily at a loss for a suitable comment he contented himself with a return to Avery's correspondence.

"The other letter," he said, "bears the well-known crest of the Evesham family. Ah, Mrs. Denys!" he shook his head at her. "Now, what does that portend?"

"What is the crest?" asked Avery, briskly cutting another slice.

"The devil," said Gracie.

"My dear!" remonstrated Mrs. Lorimer, with a nervous glance towards her husband.

The Reverend Stephen was smiling, but in a fashion she did not quite like. He addressed Avery.

"The Evesham crest, Mrs. Denys, is a gentleman with horns and hoofs and under him the one expressive word, _'Cave.'_ Excellent advice, is it not?

I think we should do well to follow it." He turned the envelope over, and studied the address. "What a curious style of writing the young man has, unrestrained to a degree! This looks as if it had been written in a desperate mood. Mrs. Denys, Mrs. Denys, what have you been doing?"

He began to laugh, but stopped abruptly as Julian, who was seated near him, with a sudden, clumsy movement, upset a stream of cocoa across the breakfast-table. This created an instant diversion. Mr. Lorimer turned upon him vindictively, and soundly smacked his head, Mrs. Lorimer covered her face and wept, and Avery, with Gracie close behind, hurried to remedy the disaster.

Ra.n.a.ld came to help her in his quiet, gentlemanly way, dabbing up the thick brown stream with his table-napkin. Pat slipped round to his mother and hugged her hard. And Olive, the only unmoved member of the party, looked on with contemptuous eyes the while she continued her breakfast. Jeanie still breakfasted upstairs in the schoolroom, and so missed the _fracas_.

"The place is a pig-sty!" declared Mr. Lorimer, roused out of all complacence and casting dainty phraseology to the winds. "And you, sir,"--he addressed his second son,--"wholly unfit for civilized society. Go upstairs, and--if you have any appet.i.te left after this disgusting exhibition--satisfy it in the nursery!"

Julian, crimson but wholly unashamed, flung up his head defiantly and walked to the door.

"Stop!" commanded Mr. Lorimer, ere he reached it.

Julian stopped.

His father looked him up and down with gradually returning composure.

"You will not go to the nursery," he said. "You will go to the study and there suffer the penalty for insolence."

"Stephen!" broke from Mrs. Lorimer in anguished protest.

"A beastly shame!" cried Gracie vehemently, flinging discretion to the winds; she adored her brother Julian. "He never spoke a single word!"

"Go, Julian!" said Mr. Lorimer.

Julian went, banging the door vigorously behind him.

Then, amid an awful silence, the Vicar turned his scrutiny upon his small daughter.

Gracie stood up under it with all the courage at her disposal, but she was white to the lips before that dreadful gaze pa.s.sed from her to Avery.

"Mrs. Denys," said Mr. Lorimer, in tones of icy courtesy, "will you oblige me by taking that child upstairs, undressing her, and putting her to bed? She will remain there until I come."

Avery, her task accomplished, turned and faced him. She was as white as Gracie, but there was a steadfast light in her eyes that showed her wholly unafraid.

"Mr. Lorimer," she said, "with your permission I will deal with Gracie. She has done wrong, I know. By-and-bye, she will be sorry and tell you so."

Mr. Lorimer smiled sarcastically. "An apology, my dear Mrs. Denys, does not condone the offence. It is wholly against my principles to spare the rod when it is so richly merited, and I shall not do so on this occasion.

Will you kindly do as I have requested?"