The Independence of Claire Part 16

"Y-yes, it was. I was saying a little prayer and trying not to feel lonesome, and then I looked round and saw--you."

"End of volume one!" cried Janet briskly. "No more waiting-rooms, my dear. You must come to us for the whole of Christmas Day. I wish I could ask you to stay, but we are chock-a-block with cousins and aunts.

I'll come round in my car in time to take you to church, and send you back at night after the Highgate revels are over. We can't offer you anything very exciting, I'm afraid--just an old-fashioned homey gathering."

"It's just what I want. I am thirsty for a home; but your mother--what will she say? Will she care for a stranger--"

"Mother says what I say," Janet declared with the a.s.surance of an only daughter. "And she'll say in addition, 'What a blessing! She'll whistle for us, and amuse Aunt Jane.' Did you realise that Aunt Jane was coming? She's generally _very_ cross all day, and makes a point of giving away her presents to other members of the party under the very noses of the givers, to let them see what she thinks of their choice.

The great idea is to sit down by her quickly when you see her begin to fumble with something you would like to have. I got quite a nice bag that way last Christmas!"

Presents! That was another idea. Claire went home mentally reviewing her own treasures with a view to selecting some trifle which Janet in the midst of her plenty might still be glad to receive. She decided on a silver clasp of quaint Breton manufacture, which had the merit that in the whole of London it would be impossible to purchase another to match.

Claire returned to her room in a frame of mind vastly different from that in which she had started forth. Her buoyant spirits soared upwards at the prospect of a Christmas spent in the midst of a happy family party, and all the difficulties of life seemed to dissolve into thin air, since, after the providential meeting just vouchsafed, it seemed faithless to doubt that future difficulties would be solved in the same way.

She intended to devote the afternoon to writing a long letter to her mother, which had been delayed owing to her recent depression of spirits, for it seemed cruel to write in a pessimistic strain to the happy bride, who now, more than ever, saw everything _couleur de rose_.

Mrs Judge's present had arrived the week before, in the shape of a richly embroidered Indian table-cloth, for which her daughter had as much use as she herself would have found for a fur rug. To use it in the saffron parlour was a sheer impossibility, for every separate article of furniture shrieked at it, and it shrieked at them in return; so Claire folded it away at the bottom of her box, reflecting, between a sigh and a smile, that the choice was "just like mother." It was not agreeable to the bride to picture her daughter living in an ugly lodging-house parlour, so she had mentally covered the ugliness beneath the gorgeous embroidery of that cloth, and happily dismissed the subject from her mind. At the time of the opening of the parcel, Claire had felt a sense of sharp disappointment, amounting even to irritation, but this morning she could see the humour of the situation, and she chuckled softly to herself as she walked homeward, rehearsing words of thanks that would be at once cordial and truthful. "Just what I wanted," was plainly out of the question; "So useful" was also ruled out, but she could honestly admire the workmanship of the cloth, and enlarge on the care with which it should be preserved! It was an easy task to satisfy a correspondent who was eager to interpret words into the meaning most agreeable to herself!

Claire entered the house prepared to devote herself to writing letters to absent friends, but the excitements of the day were not yet over, for the little maid met her on the threshold with the exciting intelligence that a gentleman was in the parlour waiting to see her.

The feuilleton made an exciting leap forward, as Lizzie watched the blood rush into the "first floor's" cheeks, and ebb away suddenly, leaving her white and tense. "Struck all of a heap, like! I shouldn't have thought meself as she'd look at him! Queer thing, love!"

soliloquised Lizzie, as she clumped down the kitchen stairs, and returned to her superintendence of Sunday's "jint."

The "first floor" meanwhile stood motionless in the oil-clothed hall, struggling to regain self-possession before turning the handle of the door. A gentleman waiting to see her! Who could the gentleman be? But at the bottom of her heart Claire believed the question to be superfluous, for there was only one "gentleman" who could possibly come.

Captain Fanshawe had found out her address, and it was Christmas-time, when a visitor was justified in counting on a hospitable reception. At Christmas-time it would be churlish for a hostess to deny a welcome.

Every pulse in Claire's body was throbbing with antic.i.p.ation as she flung open that door.

The visitor was standing with his back towards her, bending low to examine a photograph on the mantelpiece. At the sound of her entrance he straightened himself and wheeled round, and at the sight of his face Claire's heart dropped heavy as lead. They stood for a moment staring in a mutual surprise, the girl's face blank with disappointment, the man's brightening with interest.

He was a tall, thickly-set man, trim and smart in his attire, yet with a coa.r.s.eness of feature which aroused Claire's instant antagonism.

Compared with the face she had expected to see, the florid good looks which confronted her were positively repugnant. Before the obvious admiration of the black eyes she stiffened in displeasure.

"You wished to see me?"

"Miss Gifford, I believe! I called about a little matter of a parcel for Miss Rhodes. To be sent on. I wanted to ask if you--"

"Oh, certainly! I shall be delighted."

Claire thawed at the prospect of a present for Cecil, but could it be possible that it was this man with the flushed cheeks, and harsh, uncultivated voice, who had so revolutionised Cecil's life! Could it be for the delectation of those bold eyes that she had worked far into the night, contriving her pitiful fineries? Claire's instinctive dislike was so strong that she would not seat herself and so give an opportunity for prolonging the interview; she crossed the room to a bureau that stood in the corner, and took a slip of paper from one of the pigeon- holes.

"Perhaps it would be simpler if I gave you the address?"

The man laughed complacently.

"No need, thank you, I've got it all right, but it's safer not to write.

The old lady, you know! Parcel coming in for her daughter addressed in a man's writing--no end of fuss and questioning. You know what old ladies are! Never satisfied till they've ferreted to the bottom of everything that comes along. It's not good enough, that sort of thing, but she'll expect a present. It's all stamped and made up, if you'll be good enough just to address it, and slip it into the post to-morrow."

He put his hand in his pocket as he spoke and drew out a little package some two inches square, the sort of package which might contain an article of jewellery, such as a brooch or ring. Could it by any chance be an engagement ring? Claire's blood shuddered as she took the little packet and dropped it quietly on the bureau.

"Certainly I will post it. Do you wish it registered?"

He looked at her sharply as though suspicious of an under-meaning to the inquiry, then, meeting the glance of her clear eyes, had the grace to look ashamed.

"N-no. No! It is not worth while. A trifle, just a trifle--Christmas, you know--must do the proper thing!" He mumbled vaguely the while he collected his hat and gloves, the aloofness in Claire's att.i.tude making it impossible to prolong the interview; but as he held out his hand in farewell, his self-possession returned. He laughed meaningly, and said--

"Odd, you know; I imagined that you were quite old! Miss Rhodes gave me that impression. Nothing definite, you know; no false statements; just the way she spoke. Clever of her, what?--very clever! Knew better than to spoil her own game!"

If looks could have slain, the saffron parlour would have seen a dead man at that moment. Claire withdrew her hand, and surrept.i.tiously rubbed it against her skirt. She would not condescend to notice that last remark.

"I'll post the parcel to-morrow. Perhaps you will tell me your name, as I shall have to explain."

He drew out a pocket-book and extracted a card. Claire dropped it unread upon the table, and bowed stiffly in farewell. The next moment he was gone, and she could satisfy her curiosity unseen. Then came surprise number two, for the card bore the inscription, "Major J.F.

Carew," and in the corner two well-remembered words, "Carlton Club." An officer in the Army--who would have thought it! He was emphatically not a gentleman; he was rough, coa.r.s.e, mannerless, yet he was in a position which would bring him into intimate a.s.sociation with gentle people; by a strange coincidence, he might know, he almost certainly would know, the man whom she had expected to see in his stead--Erskine Fanshawe himself!

They could never be friends, but they would meet, they would sit in the same rooms, they would exchange occasional remarks. Claire's mood of intolerable disgust changed suddenly into something strangely approaching envy of this big rough man! Christmas morning brought Janet bright and early, to find Claire standing at the window ready to rush out the moment the car stopped at the door. It felt delightfully luxurious to seat herself on the springy cushions, draw the fur rug over her knees, and feel the warmth of a hot tin beneath her feet.

"_Wasn't_ it lacerating?" Janet cried. "Just as I was starting the parcel post arrived, and there were about half-a-dozen parcels for me from Saint Moritz! There was no time to open them, and I simply die to know what's inside. I care about those presents more than anything else. We had our family presents this morning. Mother gave me this."

She opened her coat to show a glittering crescent. "Quite pretty, isn't it, but I'd rather have had pearls. That's the worst of Christmas presents, you so seldom get what you want. Half the time you feel more disappointed than pleased. People cling to the idea that they ought to give you a surprise, and you _are_ surprised, but not in the way they expect. I have given mother thousands of hints about pearls. Ah, well!" She hooked the coat with an air of resignation. "We must take the will for the deed. Have you had nice things?"

"My mother sent me a very handsome present," Claire said demurely. She had no personal agitations about the day's post; but she did feel interested in the thought of those parcels from Switzerland which lay awaiting Janet Willoughby's return. Half eager, half shrinking, she looked forward to seeing their contents.

It was in Janet's dainty boudoir that the unpacking took place. The two girls went straight upstairs on their return from church, and there, on a gate-legged table, lay the pile of parcels which had arrived by the morning's delivery. Janet pounced upon the Swiss packets, and cut the fastenings with eager haste. From across the room Claire watched her eager face as she read the inscriptions one by one. As she neared the end of the pile, the eagerness became tinged with anxiety; she picked up the last parcel of all, and the light died out of her face.

Claire turned aside and affected to be absorbed in examining the contents of an old cabinet, and Janet moved to the nearer side of the table so that her face was hidden from view; after a few minutes of silence, she broke the silence in a voice of forced lightness.

"Won't you come and look at my trophies? Switzerland is not a very happy hunting-ground, for there is so little variety to be had. That's my fifth carved chalet, and about the seventeenth bear. Rather a dear, though, isn't he? Such a nice man sent it--one of the nicest of men.

That's his photograph on the mantelpiece."

Claire looked, met a straight keen glance which lived in her memory, and felt a tingle of blood in her cheeks. Janet's eyes followed hers, and she said quickly--

"Not that; that's Erskine Fanshawe. He is a casual person, and doesn't go in for presents. He hasn't even troubled to send a card. I meant the man in the leather frame. He always remembers. I do like that, in a man! They are all good enough in an emergency, but so few of them think of the nice _little_ things!" Janet sighed, and dropped the carved wooden bear on to the table. However much she might appreciate the donor's thoughtfulness, it had not had a cheering effect. The light had died out of her eyes, and she turned over the various trophies without a trace of the enthusiasm with which she had torn open the parcel. Claire standing beside her felt torn between sympathy and a guilty sense of relief. She was sorry for Janet's obvious disappointment, but she was also (it was a dog-in-the-manger feeling, for how could it possibly affect herself?) _relieved_ that Captain Fanshawe was not the donor of the bear!

As the two girls stood together turning over the little collection of carved toys, Claire slipped her hand through Janet's arm with an affectionate pressure, which was an outward apology for the inward disloyalty, and Janet stretched out her own hand to clasp it with unexpected fervour.

"Oh, I am glad you are here! I'm glad to have another girl! Girls understand. I wish I hadn't opened those horrid old parcels. It's just as I said--presents are disappointing. Now I feel thoroughly humped and dumpy! It's so stupid, too, for I know quite well that I've every sane reason to be pleased. How exasperating it is that one's head and one's heart so seldom agree!"

Claire gave the plump arm another squeeze, but made no further answer.

She was afraid to show how well she understood. Janet would forget her hasty words, and believe that her secret was locked within her own breast; but the other girl realised the position as clearly as if she had been told in so many words--"I am in love with one man, and another man is in love with me. I am throwing away the substance for the shadow!"

"Ah, well, such is life!" continued Janet, sighing. "Now I'm supposed to go downstairs and be the life of the party! How I do dislike family parties! Mother says it's the ideal thing for relations to gather together for Christmas Day, but I've been gathered together for so _many_ years!"

"You are too well-off, my dear, that's what's the matter! I have never met a girl before who had so much to make her happy, and yet you are not satisfied. How would you like to be a High School-mistress living in poky lodgings, not able to have a holiday because she can't afford two rents, and getting only one present all told?"

Janet looked at her quickly.

"Have you had only one?"

"I said _a_ High School-mistress, not any special mistress, but I will be definite if you like. How would you like to be _Me_?"

Janet turned suddenly, laid her free hand on Claire's shoulder, and stared deeply into her face.