“AN OPEN DOOR”
Two days after my visit to the Dower House, Aunt Mina arrived home.
Her return occasioned an extraordinary commotion; what conscientious
dusting, what airing of rooms, and what extravagant fires! She
was accompanied by my cousins, her future son-in-law, and various
guests, also by several maids--including her kennel-maid and four
tiny griffons. We had not met for nearly two years, and the deadly
fear I entertained of her in childhood and flapperdom had waned. My
nerves were stronger, I felt more independent, I looked on my aunt
dispassionately, fought hard to smother my sense of personal antipathy
and distaste, and to put myself in the place of a stranger, meeting
her for the first time. If my uncle was well featured, and of short
stature, his wife was his opposite in appearance; tall and bony, with
high square shoulders, a pair of bluish green eyes, a large domineering
nose, and a sunken, bitter mouth. A plain woman, who made the utmost of
her appearance, had admirable taste in dress, and carried herself with
dignity. I am glad to state that I did not quail when we met in the
library, and she accorded me a smudgy kiss.
“Delighted to see you, Eva,” she said. “Hubert,” turning to an elderly
gentleman with an eyeglass, “this is my niece, or rather my husband’s
niece, Eva Lingard.”
Sir Beaufort Finsbury bowed, carefully rearranged his eyeglass, and, on
second thoughts, offered me his hand.
“Hallo, Eva!” exclaimed Clara, “Here you are! And so you’ve been
hobnobbing with the pater all this time? You look as if you’d grown a
foot, but, my dear girl, how abominably you do your hair!”
“She’s got stacks of it, anyhow,” put in her sister; “no pads, nothing
put on, eh, Eva?” Dora had always befriended me.
Clara was my senior by seven or eight years. When I was a small child
in the nursery she had been a well-grown girl in the schoolroom, and
a cruel and merciless bully. She was tall, with a stoop, and had
pale reddish hair, a thick white skin, and heavy white eyelids, half
concealing her pale prominent eyes. As Clara had a sharp, merciless
tongue, wore glasses and subscribed to the London Library, she was
generally spoken of as “the clever Miss Lingard.” Dora, on the other
hand, was dull and indolent, but good looking, in a lazy dark style,
and much more amiable than her sister. She was fond of bridge, and did
a little betting on the sly! Was the hereditary failing to reappear in
_her_?
The party from London, a gay one, was chiefly composed of Sir
Beaufort’s friends and some of the Lingard connections who had
“handles” to their names. One day we patronised a point-to-point
steeplechase, the next a race meeting; at night, there was bridge and
dancing. My aunt had brought me some evening dresses, my hair was
arranged in the latest fashion, and I no longer looked like Beke--nor
felt like it either! I enjoyed myself vastly, and was privately
informed by Dora that her mother was pleased with me, and that I had
been quite presentable. I really believe that at this time my aunt
almost liked me. I was ready to help her by writing menus and notes,
giving a last little touch to the table decorations, and “taking on”
the bores. Moreover, I was in considerable demand as a partner for
bridge and dancing, and possibly my chaperon had agreeable visions of
getting me speedily off her hands.
Early in April the wedding took place, after a week of the most
strenuous preparations. The house was packed to the very roof, and I
confess that I was not sorry when the whole affair was over, the bride
had said farewell, the last handful of rice had been thrown, and the
departing motor become a mere speck on the avenue.
Bev, who had come down expressly for the day, renewed his attentions to
me. He informed me that he found me enormously improved in appearance.
Unfortunately, I was not able to repay the compliment in kind. Bev had
none of the good looks of the Lingard family. To me he always bore a
ridiculous resemblance to a young gander. A very long thin neck, a
very long beaky nose, a small flat head and no chin, supported this
impression.
We had settled into the usual routine, and my aunt was beginning to
talk of a couple of weeks in London and a June Drawing Room, when, to
the consternation of the whole family, Beverley reappeared, having been
sent down from Oxford. Apparently his scrapes had reached a climax.
There were debts, too! Uncle’s face looked grim and glum, and even my
aunt, always so indulgent, was obviously displeased with her darling.
Suppressed by his parents and sister, Bev turned for consolation to
me. He followed me about like a shadow and was absolutely impervious
to snubs. If I went out riding he became my escort; if I escaped for a
walk, or into the old schoolroom, he tracked me down and joined me. My
angry protests were of no avail, and I could not help feeling that my
aunt was really unlucky. Here was an idle ne’er-do-well loafing about
at home. Here was also the niece, whose attractions she feared--and the
pair were continually together!
For my part I sought refuge with Clara or Mrs. Paget-Taylor, but what
was to be done upon wet days? On one of these Bev joined me in the old
schoolroom, where I had ensconced myself before a good fire with a new
novel in my hand. I gave him a very tepid reception, as he drew up a
chair, put his long feet on the chimneypiece, and lit a cigarette.
“I have been hunting for you everywhere,” he announced.
“Yes,” I replied, “like the little boy in the fable, who wanted
somebody to play with; but I’m not going to play,” I added sharply,
“and if you worry I shall go and sit up in my own room.” And I returned
to my book.
“By Jove, Eva, you are changed!” he exclaimed, “such a grand, stand-off
young lady. Do you remember how in this very room we used to roast
chestnuts and make horrible toffee? We were great pals then, why can’t
we be pals now?”
“Everything is different,” I replied without raising my eyes.
“Oh yes; instead of being a long-legged flapper, with red hands and a
cold in your head, you have bloomed into a great beauty.”
“Don’t talk nonsense,” I said impatiently.
“By Jove, it’s true! Old Finny”--thus did he refer to the baronet, his
brother-in-law--“said that if you were brought out in London you would
make a tremendous stir.”
“Rubbish,” I ejaculated, “he was pulling your leg.”
“Not mine; he was talking to the governor; and young Chambers told me
there was no one to touch you at the Belmont hop, that the men were
falling over one another to get a dance, and I don’t wonder.” Here he
brought down his legs with a crash, threw his cigarette into the fire,
and, turning to face me, said, “Eva, I adore you!”
“Oh, shut up,” I answered rudely.
“That’s a nice way to talk to a fellow,” he exclaimed in an injured
tone.
“It’s the right way when a fellow is talking nonsense.”
“You would be the making of me, Evie; you know that,” he continued,
towering over me as he spoke; “you are awfully clever, the governor
says--so clear-headed and sensible, with a capital seat on horseback,
and uncommon good looks. He is dead nuts on you. Come now, say you will
marry me!”
“And what about your mother?” I asked.
For a moment he was dumb.
“Well, if she objects and makes the place too hot to hold any of
us, I’ll marry a chorus girl. After all, I’m one and twenty and the
property is strictly entailed.”
“You’ll be cutting a rod to beat yourself, my good Bev, and I should be
truly sorry for the poor chorus girl, and incidentally for you. I like
you all right, Bev, as a cousin. I do not forget that you always took
my part and befriended me when I was in disgrace----”
“Well, now the boot is on the other foot,” he interrupted, “I’m in
everybody’s black books, I’m in disgrace with the pater, so won’t you
befriend me? Turn about is fair play.”
“I’m afraid, Bev, that the only thing I can offer you is advice. Why
don’t you try for a commission in the army?”
“Too old.”
“Well then, travel; go and see the world.”
“If you will come along with me I’ll go like a shot.”
Ignoring this suggestion with a wave of my hand, I continued my
admonition--
“You really must give up betting and cards----” History, as we all
know, repeats itself; even as I spoke the door opened, and my aunt
entered.
“Oh----” and she paused expressively. That “Oh” was dramatic; it
conveyed volumes of disapproval.
“Eva, I have been looking for you everywhere. I want you to collect the
books for Mudie’s, make out a fresh list, and, as the maid is ill, will
you wash two of the griffons?”
She spoke in her normal voice, but her jaw was set and her suspicious
blue-green eyes roved backwards and forwards from Beverley to me.
“All right,” I said, rising with alacrity, only too thankful to close
the interview; and as I followed Aunt Mina down the long flagged
passages, I knew from the expression of her back, as surely as if she
had told me in words, that her fears respecting Bev and myself were
once more awakened.
My life at this period was by no means a bed of roses. Uncle was laid
up with a sharp attack of gout, possibly brought on by the shock of
Beverley’s debts. Beverley persecuted me. He was quite too dreadfully
cunning, a domestic Sherlock Holmes, and seemed, in spite of his
mother’s most anxious precautions, to mark down my exact whereabouts
with unfailing accuracy. I snubbed him mercilessly, even at meal-times,
and, strange to say, my brusque little speeches aroused Aunt Mina’s
ire; yet if I had been agreeable she would have been furious and
have declared that I was “drawing him on.” There was no pleasing her,
but, poor woman, the situation was harassing; she could not send
Beverley from home, as he was not to be trusted--her only alternative
was to make some desperate effort to get rid of _me_! Alas! this was
a hopeless undertaking. Consequently, so far as I was concerned, she
became the very incarnation of despotism and aggression.
Although I lived in a luxurious abode, shared a maid with my cousin
Clara (my share I may mention was merely nominal), had a delightful
horse to ride, a superb piano to play on, quantities of books and most
dainty food, I was far from being happy or contented. The truth was
that the continual strain of holding Beverley at bay on the one hand,
and vainly attempting to soothe his mother’s fears on the other, was
altogether too much for my nervous system. The tension was terrible,
a tension that was never relaxed. Just at this particular crisis our
good genius, Mrs. Paget-Taylor, came to the assistance of the family.
She constantly entertained visitors in her comfortable Dower House;
sometimes these were relations, sometimes old friends, and occasionally
there were casual acquaintances whom she had picked up abroad or when
doing a “cure” at home.
One afternoon she appeared, just before tea-time, accompanied by two
guests, a lady and gentleman; the former, who followed her closely
across the slippery parquet floor of the vast drawing-room, was
entirely uncommon and picturesquely different from our everyday
callers. The visitor who approached in the wake of Mrs. Paget-Taylor
held herself erect, her head slightly thrown back; her face was
strikingly handsome, she had wavy brown hair, straight black brows,
extraordinarily expressive eyes, and a brilliant complexion. These
details can give but a faint idea of her personality. She wore a
costume of some rich dark blue material with little touches of gold,
and a hat that was equally _chic_ and becoming. The vision was so vivid
and impressive that I could do nothing but gaze, and gaze, and gaze.
The strangers were presented as “Captain and Mrs. Hayes-Billington,”
and Mrs. Paget-Taylor murmured to my aunt that he was “a far away
connection, at present on leave from India.” Captain Hayes-Billington
was a stout well-set-up man of thirty, with regular features and a
heavy dark moustache, but his face had a puffy appearance; indeed, he
was altogether puffy, and to me his arms and legs recalled inflated
air cushions, so tightly did his grey suit encase them. He was not in
the least overawed or dumbfounded, as were some, by the magnificence
of Torrington, but chatted away to Aunt Mina about “my regiment,” “my
appointment,” and “my mines,” and carried round the tea-cups with the
address of long practice. Mrs. Hayes-Billington also took part in the
general conversation. She had a sweet, rather low voice, and exhibited
when she spoke glimpses of beautiful teeth. Her manners were easy and
assured, and her smile was radiant. Such smiles thawed Aunt Mina’s
usual manner of ice and iron. She was always amenable when she realised
that people were not afraid of her. This stranger was fearless, and
listened to her account of the super-griffon’s asthma with an admirably
assumed air of absorption and sympathy. It was wonderful how rapidly
she stole into my aunt’s good graces. They discussed Monte Carlo, and
the rapacity of milliners, and compared their experiences of French
hotels. The visitor also exchanged a few sentences with Bev, who,
instead of fleeing from callers as usual, was sitting, tea-cup in hand,
staring at Mrs. Hayes-Billington with wide open pea-green eyes.
She inquired the name of his regiment, which query, strange to say,
delicately flattered his greedy vanity.
“Not in the army?” she repeated incredulously, “I certainly thought you
were in the Guards.”
“Oh, no,” he rejoined, “I am going into the Diplomatic Service”; which
was the first that anyone had heard of it!
It transpired that the couple were spending a whole week at the Dower
House ere returning to India in a month’s time, and presently I screwed
up my courage and ventured to ask her how she liked the East.
“Oh it’s all right, as long as one is young,” she answered in a deep,
rather vibrant voice, looking at me steadily with her marvellous dark
eyes. “We have always been in the Punjaub, but this time we are bound
for the Deccan. Herbert has been given a very good appointment there.
It will be an entirely new country.”
Before the little party took leave, my aunt, much to my astonishment,
invited them to dinner, for as a rule she never extended hospitality to
the Dower House guests.
No sooner had they left us than a chorus of remarks arose, all in
praise of Mrs. Hayes-Billington. Bev was particularly loud and
eloquent. His mother and sister agreed that she was handsome, smart,
and not in the least the usual type of officer’s wife that drifted home
from India, washed out, flabby and dowdy.
Mrs. Hayes-Billington’s appearance of an evening was positively
dazzling; in fact, I may say that the effect of her beauty on a country
cousin like myself was almost overwhelming. She wore a rose-coloured
gown, very _décolletée_, a diamond bandeau in her dark wavy hair, and
was undoubtedly the queen of the company. What was Aunt Mina in dark
green velvet? What was I, in my new white _crêpe de Chine_? Merely the
background of an exquisite picture.
We were a party of twelve; four from the Dower House, five of
ourselves, the rector and his wife (she was a bishop’s daughter) and
young Tom Champneys, a neighbour. Uncle took in Mrs. Hayes-Billington,
who sat between him and Bev. I came next to Bev, with Captain
Paget-Taylor on my left hand. At the head of the table Aunt Mina
was supported by Captain Hayes-Billington and the rector. Mrs.
Hayes-Billington talked away with great animation to my uncle. She
discoursed of pig-sticking, jackal hunting, and racing, and asked many
questions about our local pack; but somehow I received an impression
that she and my uncle did not hit it off. It struck me that my usually
voluble relation was somewhat reserved in his manner, though always the
polite and attentive host. Occasionally she addressed herself to Bev,
and found him eagerly responsive.
From the other end of the table I could hear Captain Hayes-Billington
relating experiences and stories to Aunt Mina and the rector in a loud,
jovial voice. I caught one or two stories--chestnuts, no doubt--with
regard to a certain class called “Baboos.” One of them had announced
that “the army was a glorious profession in time of peace, but in time
of war highly dangerous.” Another, who had given his seat to a lady, on
her saying she was sorry to deprive him of it, replied, “No depravity,
madam!” The raconteur laughed so uproariously at his own anecdotes that
his hearers were compelled to join--even my aunt accorded a fixed smile.
Young Champneys, who sat opposite, suddenly addressed Captain
Paget-Taylor across the table, and said:
“Last time I was in town I saw Falkland at the club. He was just
starting for India. He seemed a bit bothered by a dog he had with him.
He told me it had been given to him by a girl.”
“Oh, rats!” exclaimed Bev, “Falkland isn’t a ladies’ man, we all know
that. He bought the brute at Whiteley’s.”
“Funny sort of aide-de-camp he’ll make,” said Captain Paget-Taylor;
“I can’t see him escorting women, writing invitations, and doing the
carpet knight! Falkland is a keen soldier, his character is as strong
as a breakwater, but his manner is short and he has no parlour tricks!
I believe the general is a connection of Lady Louisa’s, and as Falkland
had a pretty stiff time in the Soudan, and as a lad got knocked about
in the Boer War, his mother clamoured for this easy billet, but of
course _he_ knows nothing about that!”
Once in the drawing-room, Mrs. Hayes-Billington and my aunt paired off
together and enthroned themselves on a sofa, whilst I was dispatched
to the piano and commanded to play and sing. Mrs. Paget-Taylor and the
rector’s wife discussed the temper of the parish nurse, and Clara wrote
letters.
Between my unappreciated songs I noticed that Aunt Mina and her guest
were engaged in what appeared to be an absorbing conversation. Mrs.
Hayes-Billington undertook most of the talking, and was evidently
explaining something to my relative, to which she listened with unusual
attention, punctuating the information from time to time with slow,
impressive nods.
The next day Mrs. Paget-Taylor came up to Torrington, and had a long
private conference with my aunt in her boudoir. Subsequently the
Hayes-Billingtons were invited to lunch and the lady was taken for a
drive in the family landau--a most unusual favour--and, so far as I
could divine, for no ostensible reason. It soon became evident that _I_
was the cause of all this hospitality and condescension. To make a long
story short, the Hayes-Billingtons were hard up; a year at home had
proved unexpectedly costly, and they would gladly undertake the charge
of a nice girl, if it were made worth while. Their terms were £150 a
year inclusive, to be paid quarterly. All this my cousin Clara imparted
to me with considerable zest, for although she and I had never openly
quarrelled we were far from being really congenial, and apparently she
now saw a happy opportunity for displacing me. In her opinion one Miss
Lingard in the landau, or the new car, was amply sufficient, and, with
a heavily charged brush, she painted my future prospects in glowing
colours, finishing off the picture with the announcement:
“You will have a splendid time out there, Eva, you are so lively and
superficial, and such a good dancer--just the right sort of girl to go
to India.”
This may have been a left-handed compliment, but when, as Lord
Chesterfield said, a compliment is doubtful, it is best to accept it.
My cousin candidly admitted that my uncle was inflexibly opposed to
Mrs. Paget-Taylor’s scheme. He thought Captain Hayes-Billington a loud
bragging sort of bounder; as for his wife, she was a handsome woman,
there could be no two opinions about that, but somehow or other she was
not his style. She wore too much scent, made too much use of her eyes,
and he couldn’t exactly place her; but then he was always particularly
fastidious. “To come down to the bedrock of the whole question,” said
Clara, in conclusion, “what do you think yourself, Eva?”
I was not prepared to give her an answer on the spot, and felt rather
inclined to fall in with my uncle’s opinion. Captain Hayes-Billington,
though good-natured, was loud and slangy, and in spite of her spell
there was something odd about his wife. She glowed with beauty like
some hard irresponsive gem, and for all her flow of impulsive talk
I instinctively felt that she was really as cold as a well-cut
diamond. I paced slowly up and down the room with my hands locked
behind my back, then I went and stood for some time looking out of
the window, endeavouring to concentrate my mind on the “fors” and
“againsts.” Suddenly below in the Italian garden I beheld Beverley,
who, having caught sight of me, halted and signalled violently with his
handkerchief. No doubt my aunt was watching him from her boudoir--which
was just below--and believed that I was encouraging this frantic
demonstration.
Oh, I felt my present position to be absolutely intolerable. Yes, even
if I went out of the frying-pan into the fire, I resolved to accompany
the Hayes-Billingtons to India!