The Cathedral Part 54

"That's all right," said Johnny indifferently. "You can settle it any way you please--but no one's going to marry you but me, and no one's going to marry me but you."

He would have kissed her again, but Mrs. Preston and a young man came in.

"Now you shall come and speak to my mother," he said to her as they went out. "There's nothing to be afraid of. Just say 'Bo' to her as you would to a goose, and she'll answer all right."

"You won't say anything----" began Joan.

"About us? All right. That's a secret for the present; but we shall meet _every_ day, and if there's a day we don't meet you've got to write.

Do you agree?"

Whether she agreed or no was uncertain, because they were now in a cloud of people, and, a moment later, were face to face with the old Countess.

She was pleased, it at once appeared. She was in a gracious mood; people had been pleasant enough--that is, they had been obsequious and flattering. Also her digestion was behaving properly; those new pills that old Puddifoot had given her were excellent. She therefore received Joan very graciously, congratulated her on her appearance, and asked her where her elder sister was. When Joan explained that she had no sister Lady St.

Leath appeared vexed with her, as though it had been a piece of obvious impertinence on her part not to produce a sister instantly when she had asked for one. However, Lady Mary was kind and friendly and made Joan sit beside her for a little. Joan thought, "I'd like to have you for a sister one day, if--if--ever----" and allowed her thoughts to go no farther.

Thence she pa.s.sed into the company of Mrs. Combermere and Ellen Stiles. It seemd to her--but it was probably her fancy--that as she came to them they were discussing something that was not for her ears. It seemed to her that they swiftly changed the conversation and greeted her with quite an unusual warmth of affection. For the first time that evening a sudden little chill of foreboding, whence she knew not, seemed to touch her and shade, for an instant, her marvellous happiness.

Mrs. Combermere was very sweet to her indeed, quite as though she had been, but now, recovering from an alarming illness. Her ba.s.s voice, strong thick hands and stiff wiry hair went so incongruously with her cloth of gold that Joan could not help smiling.

"You look very happy, my dear," Mrs. Combermere said.

"Of course I am," said Joan. "How can I help it, my first Ball?"

Mrs. Combermere kicked her trailing garments with her foot, just like a dame in a pantomime. "Well, enjoy yourself as long as you can. You're looking very pretty. The prettiest girl in the room. I've just been saying so to Ellen--haven't I, Ellen?"

Ellen Stiles was at that moment making herself agreeable to the Mayoress, who was sitting lonely and uncomfortable (weighed down with longing for sleep) on a little gilt chair.

"I was just saying to Mrs. Branston," Miss Stiles said, turning round, "that the time one has to be careful with children after whooping-cough is when they seem practically well. Her little boy has just been ill with it, and she says he's recovered; but that's the time, as I tell her, when nine out of ten children die--just when you think you're safe."

"Oh dear," said Mrs. Branston, turning towards them her full anxious eyes.

"You _do_ alarm me, Miss Stiles! And I've been letting Tommy quite loose, as you may say, these last few days--with his appet.i.te back and all, there seemed no danger."

"Well, if you find him feverish when you get home tonight," said Ellen, "don't he surprised. All the excitement of the Jubilee too will be very bad for him."

At that moment Canon Ronder came up. Joan looked and at once, at the sight of the round gleaming spectacles, the smiling mouth, the full cheeks puffed out as though he were blowing perpetual bubbles for his own amus.e.m.e.nt, felt her old instinct of repulsion. This man was her father's enemy, and so hers. All the town knew now that he was trying to ruin her father so that he might take his place, that he laughed at him and mocked him.

So fierce did she feel that she could have scratched his cheeks. He was smiling at them all, and at once was engaged in a wordy duel with Mrs.

Combermere and Miss Stiles. _They_ liked him; every one in the town liked him. She heard his praises sung by every one. Well, she would never sing them. She hated him.

And now he was actually speaking to her. He had the impertinence to ask her for a dance.

"I'm afraid I'm engaged for the next and for the one after that, Canon Ronder," she said.

"Well, later on then," he said, smiling. "What about an extra?"

Her dark eyes scorned him.

"We are going home early," she said. She pretended to examine her programme. "I'm afraid I have not one before we go."

She spoke as coldly as she dared. She felt the eyes of Mrs. Combermere and Ellen Stiles upon her. How stupid of her! She had shown them what her feelings were, and now they would chatter the more and laugh about her fighting her father's battles. Why had she not shown her indifference, her complete indifference?

He was smiling still--not discomfited by her rudeness. He said something-- something polite and outrageously kind--and then young Charles D'Arcy came up to carry her off for the Lancers.

An hour later her cup of happiness was completely filled. She had danced, during that hour, four times with Johnny; every one must be talking. Lady St. Leath must be furious (she did not know that Boadicea had been playing whist with old Colonel Wotherston and Sir Henry Byles for the last ever so long).

She would perhaps never have such an hour in all her life again. This thing that he so wildly proposed was impossible--utterly, completely impossible; but what was _not_ impossible, what was indeed certain and sure and beyond any sort of question, was that she loved Johnny St.

Leath with all her heart and soul, and would so love him until the day of her death. Life could never be purposeless nor mean nor empty for her again, while she had that treasure to carry about with her in her heart.

Meanwhile she could not look at him and doubt but that, for the moment at any rate, he loved her--and there was something simple and direct about Johnny as there was about his dog Andrew, that made his words, few and clumsy though they might be, most strangely convincing.

So, almost dizzy with happiness, she climbed the stair behind the Gallery and thought that she would escape for a moment into the little room where Johnny had proposed to her, and sit there and grow calm. She looked in.

Some one was there. A man sitting by himself and staring in front of him.

She saw at once that he was in some great trouble. His hands were clenched, his face puckered and set with pain. Then she saw that it was her father.

He did not move; he might have been a block of stone shining in the dimness. Terrified, she stood, herself not moving. Then she came forward.

She put her hand on his shoulder.

"Oh, father--father, what is it?" She felt his body trembling beneath her touch--he, the proudest, finest man in the country. She put her arm round his neck. She kissed him. His forehead was damp with sweat. His body was shaking from head to foot. She kissed him again and again, kneeling beside him.

Then she remembered where they were. Some one might come. No one must see him like that.

She whispered to him, took his hands between hers.

"Let's go home, Joan," he said. "I want to go home."

She put her arm through his, and together they went down the little stairs.

Chapter IV

Sunday, June 20: In the Bedroom

Brandon had been talking to the Precentor at the far end of the ballroom, when suddenly Ronder had appeared in their midst. Appeared the only word!

And Brandon, armoured, he had thought, for every terror that that night might bring to him, had been suddenly seized with the l.u.s.t of murder. A l.u.s.t as dominating as any other, that swept upon him in a hot flaming tide, lapped him from head to foot. It was no matter, this time, of words, of senses, of thoughts, but of his possession by some other man who filled his brain, his eyes, his mouth, his stomach, his heart; one second more and he would have flung himself upon that smiling face, those rounded limbs; he would have caught that white throat and squeezed it-- squeezed...squeezed....

The room literally swam in a tide of impulse that carried him against Ronder's body and left him there, breast beating against breast....

He turned without a word and almost ran from the place. He pa.s.sed through the pa.s.sages, seeing no one, conscious of neither voices nor eyes, climbing stairs that he did not feel, sheltering in that lonely little room, sitting there, his hands to his face, shuddering. The l.u.s.t slowly withdrew from him, leaving him icy cold. Then he lifted his eyes and saw his daughter and clung to her--as just then he would have clung to anybody--for safety.

Had it come to this then, that he was mad? All that night, lying on his bed, he surveyed himself. That was the way that men murdered. No longer could he claim control or mastery of his body. G.o.d had deserted him and given him over to devils.

His son, his wife, and now G.o.d. His loneliness was terrible. And he could not think. He must think about this letter and what he should do. He could not think at all. He was given over to devils.