Certain days become retrospectively memorable, and that however
apparently uneventful they may have seemed at the time.
To Laura Pavely the 6th of January opened as had done all the other days
during the last few weeks, that is, quietly, dully, and sadly.
There was one difference, trifling or not as one happened to look at the
matter. Godfrey was away in London. He had been absent for over a
week--since the 28th, and though he had been expected back last night,
there had come a telephone message, late in the afternoon, to say that
his business would keep him away a day longer.
This morning--it was a Friday morning--Laura, trying hard to shake off
her depression, told herself that she and Alice might as well go for a
ride. It was a beautiful day, and the wind blew soft. They would go
across the downs to a certain lonely spot which Alice loved.
Laura was already in the hall in her riding habit, waiting for the
child, when there came a telephone message through from Pewsbury. It was
from the Bank asking what time Mr. Pavely would be there. A gentleman
with whom he had made an appointment for ten o'clock, had been waiting
for him since that hour. It was now nearly eleven.
Laura turned to the servant: "Did Mr. Pavely give you any message to
send on to the Bank?" she asked.
The man answered, "No, ma'am, not that I understood. Mr. Pavely didn't
come himself to the telephone."
"What was the message exactly?" Laura was always kind and courteous in
her manner to her servants, and they were all attached to her.
"It was as how Mr. Pavely was being detained, and could not be home last
night, ma'am. The person who gave the message was in a great hurry--he
cut me off before I could say anything to him."
"I suppose we ought to have telephoned to the Bank early this morning,"
said Laura thoughtfully. But it had never occurred to her that it would
be necessary for her to do so. Her husband was a very exact man of
business. She had taken it as certain that he had also communicated with
the Bank.
"Who was it telephoned just now?" she asked.
"I think it was Mr. Privet himself, ma'am. He said he felt sure Mr.
Pavely intended to be back this morning, because of the gentleman he had
arranged to see."
"Perhaps I had better speak to Mr. Privet myself," said Laura. "Is that
you, Mr. Privet?"
"I wish you a very good morning, Mrs. Pavely. I didn't mean to put you
to any trouble, but you see the matter is important----" Even through
the telephone she could hear a mysterious tone in the old voice, though
he was speaking in so low a tone that she could scarcely hear. "It's
Lord St. Amant. He's been here since ten o'clock, and he says he can't
stop any longer. Mr. Pavely made an appointment with his lordship over
a week ago. It's very strange he should have forgotten, isn't it, Mrs.
Pavely?"
"Yes, I think it _is_ strange," she said slowly. "Will you tell his
lordship that I'm exceedingly sorry that word was not sent him. If I had
known of the appointment, of course I would have communicated with him
either by telephone or by a note."
"Then I'm to put off all Mr. Pavely's appointments for to-day?"
"Well, yes, Mr. Privet, that seems to me the only thing you can do."
Laura smiled a little as she left the telephone. Mr. Privet's tone, if
not his words, made it quite clear that he thought Mr. Pavely had
committed a serious solecism, almost the worst solecism a country banker
could commit, in not keeping an appointment with the great man of the
neighbourhood, who was to be the new Lord Lieutenant of the county.
* * * * *
An hour and a half later, as mother and child were riding slowly home,
Laura suddenly told herself that it was a long time since Mrs. Tropenell
had seen Alice on pony-back. Why shouldn't they both go on to Freshley?
And if Aunt Letty asked them to stay to lunch, as she very probably
would, so much the better!
On their way to the front door of the house, they turned into the
stable-yard to find a groom, and then, suddenly, Laura felt a queer, and
to herself an utterly unexpected and new, sensation sweep over her. It
was a sensation of eager, unreasoning joy.
Oliver Tropenell stood in the middle of the yard, talking to his
mother's old groom. He looked ill and tired--dreadfully tired. But all
at once, as he saw Laura and her child come riding in, a wonderful
change swept over his dark face--there came over it a glowing expression
of welcome and delight. He lifted Alice off her pony. Then he came
forward to help Laura....
With a shock of surprise which seemed to make her heart stop beating,
Laura felt her whole being responding to the ardent, and at once
imperious and imploring look with which he gazed up into her eyes. She
was shaken, awed by the passion he threw, perhaps unconsciously, into
that long, beckoning look--stirred to the heart by the feeling of
content his mere presence brought her.
But even in those few flashing moments, Laura Pavely quickly, almost
fiercely, assured herself that this new, strange sensation of oneness,
of surrender on her part, was "friendship," nothing more.
Yet her voice faltered in spite of herself, as she said, "Hadn't we
better ride round? I only came in here to find some one to hold the
horses, in case your mother wanted us to come in."
But with a muttered, "Mother has got Lord St. Amant to luncheon--I know
she would like you both to stay, too," he lifted her off her horse.
They walked to a door which led into the back part of the house, and so
by a corridor to a small room where Mrs. Tropenell generally sat in the
morning. As they went along, Alice, alone, chattered happily.
At last Laura, more for the sake of proving to herself that she felt
quite at ease than for anything else, asked suddenly, "I suppose you
didn't see Godfrey on your way through London?"
Oliver waited a few moments--so long indeed that she wondered if he had
heard her. But she knew in her heart that he had, for his face had
darkened at the mention of her husband's name. At last he answered, very
deliberately, "Is Godfrey away then?"
"Yes. He went off some days ago. We expected him home yesterday; but he
sent a telephone message to say he wasn't coming back till to-night."
They were now before the door of Mrs. Tropenell's sitting-room. Her son
opened it quietly, and for a moment the three stood there, gazing into
the panelled, sunlit little room, which was part of the survival of a
much older building than the eighteenth-century manor-house.
Mrs. Tropenell, sitting upright in a low chair, was looking up into the
face of the man who stood before her, and they were both so absorbed in
what they were saying that neither had heard the door open.
Laura gazed with new eyes, a new curiosity, at Lord St. Amant. She had
seen him often in this house, though sometimes at comparatively long
intervals, ever since she was a child, and always he had had a fixed
place, in her mind and imagination, as Mrs. Tropenell's one man-friend.
To-day, seeing the two thus talking eagerly together she felt her
interest oddly quickened. She was asking herself eagerly whether some
such passage as that which had taken place between herself and Oliver
Tropenell three months ago, and which had caused her so much pain, had
ever occurred between those two in the days when Lady St. Amant, a
fretful, selfish invalid whom every one disliked, was still alive. If
yes, then Mrs. Tropenell had evidently known how to retain the
friendship, the warm affections of a man who, younger, had been
notoriously inconstant.
In Laura's eyes these two had always been old when she thought of them
at all. But to-day she realised, as in a flash, that the man and woman
before her had also been young, and that not so very long ago.
Even now, Lord St. Amant was a still vigorous and active-looking man. He
was leaning over the back of a chair, looking eagerly into his old
friend's face. Was it true, as some of the gossips said, that he had
remained a widower for that same friend's sake?
Laura gazed at him with an almost hungry curiosity. She was absurdly
surprised that he looked to-day exactly as he had always looked in her
eyes--a pleasant, agreeable-mannered, amusing man of the world, not at
all her notion of the one-time lover of many women.
Lord St. Amant's hair had now gone white, but, apart from that he looked
just as he had been wont to look, when he came and went about Freshley
Manor, when she, as a child, had stayed there with her mother. Some
years later, she had become dimly aware--girls always know such
things--that Mrs. Tropenell had had a fleeting notion of marrying her to
Lord St. Amant. But Laura had also known that it was Mrs. Tropenell, not
herself, who was the magnet which then drew him so often to Freshley
Manor.
They had once, however, had an intimate talk together. It had been on
one of the very rare occasions when Mrs. Tropenell was ill, confined to
bed, upstairs, and she, Laura Baynton, had been left alone to entertain
her Aunt Letty's old friend. And their talk--she remembered it now--had
been all of Oliver: of Oliver and his mother.
Lord St. Amant had spoken with much heat of Oliver's having settled on
the other side of the world, leaving Mrs. Tropenell lonely. Then he had
smiled a curious little smile: "But that makes no difference. To a
mother 'distance makes the heart grow fonder,' and also 'lends
enchantment to the view.' An only son, Laura, is the most formidable of
rivals."
The girl had been flattered, touched too, by the implied confidence.
She had yet another vivid memory of Lord St. Amant. He had sent her,
immediately on hearing of her engagement to Godfrey Pavely, a
magnificent wedding present; also he had come, at some inconvenience, to
her marriage.
Godfrey had supposed the compliment due to regard for himself and for
his father, but Laura, of course, had known better. Lord St. Amant had
come to her marriage to please Mrs. Tropenell--because he regarded her,
in a sense, as Mrs. Tropenell's adopted daughter.
Something of all this moved in quick procession through Laura Pavely's
mind, as she stood in the doorway, looking more beautiful, more
animated, more feminine, in spite of--or was it because of?--her riding
dress, than Oliver Tropenell had ever seen her.
She moved forward into the room, and Lord St. Amant turned quickly
round.
If Laura looked at Lord St. Amant with a new interest, a new curiosity
in her beautiful eyes, he, on his side, now looked at Laura more
attentively than he had done for a long time. He had been abroad for two
months, and this was the first time he and Mrs. Tropenell had met since
his return.
They had just had a long talk, and during that talk she had at last told
him something which had amused, surprised, and yes, interested him very
much; for Lord St. Amant, in the evening of his days, found himself
more, not less, tolerant of, and interested in, human nature, and in
human nature's curious kinks and byways, than at the time when he
himself had provided his friends and contemporaries with food for gossip
and scandal. But he had been very comforting in his comments on her
story, and more than once he had made his old friend smile. Mrs.
Tropenell had felt very, very glad to see Lord St. Amant. It was natural
that she should be glad to have once more within easy reach of her the
one human being in the world to whom she could talk freely, and who took
an unaffectedly close, deep interest in all her concerns.
* * * * *
Not till they were all sitting at luncheon, was Laura able, in a low
tone, to inquire after her brother. Little Alice knew nothing of her
uncle's visit to England. Godfrey and Laura had tacitly agreed to keep
the child in ignorance of it. But now Laura asked, with some eagerness,
"And Gillie? What's happened to Gillie? Is he still abroad?"
Olive answered at once, "No, he's gone back to Mexico." And then, as he
saw a look of blank disappointment shadow her face, he added, hastily,
"He gave me a lot of messages for you--I was coming over this afternoon
to deliver them. You know what Gillie's like--he never writes if he can
help it!"
"Yes," she said, "I know that," and she sighed. "Did he go from a French
port?" she asked.
Oliver hesitated. It was almost as if he had forgotten. But at last he
answered, "Yes, he went from Havre. I saw him off."
And then something rather untoward happened. There came a violent
ringing at the front door--a loud, imperious pulling at the big,
old-fashioned iron bell-pull. To the surprise of his mother, Oliver
flushed--a deep, unbecoming brick red. Starting up from table, he pushed
his chair aside, and walked quickly to the door. It was almost as if he
expected some one. "I'll see who it is!" he called out.
They heard him striding across the hall, and flinging open the front
door....
Then he came back slowly, and Mrs. Tropenell saw that there was a look
of immeasurable relief on his face. "It's a man who's brought a parcel
from Pewsbury for one of the servants. He declared he couldn't make any
one hear at the back, and so he came round to the front door--rather
impudent of him, eh?" and he sat down again.
Coffee was served in the pleasant, low-ceilinged drawing-room, and then
Oliver and Laura went out of doors, with Alice trotting by their side.
It was quite like old times. And the child voiced their unspoken
feeling, when, slipping her hand into Oliver's, she exclaimed, "This is
jolly! Just like what it used to be when you were here before!"
And he pressed the little hand which lay so confidingly in his. "Yes,"
he said, in a low voice, "the same--but nicer, don't you think so,
Alice?"
And Alice answered with the downrightness of childhood, "I can't tell
yet! I shall know that after you've been here a little while. We can't
garden as much as we did then, for now the ground is too hard."
"But we can do other things," said Oliver, smiling down at her.
And Alice answered doubtfully, "Yes, I suppose we can."
They did not say very much. Oliver did not talk, as perhaps another man
would have done, of his and Gillie's adventures in France and Italy. And
after a comparatively short time Laura suggested that she and Alice had
better now ride home.
"Will you come over to tea?" she asked.
And Oliver said yes, that he would.
"I daresay Godfrey will be back by then. He often takes the early
afternoon train down from London."
But to that he made no answer, and Laura, with a rather painful
sensation, saw the light suddenly die out of his face.
He came round to the stable. "I'll walk a little way with you," he said.
But she exclaimed rather hurriedly, "No, don't do that, Oliver! Stay
with your mother and Lord St. Amant."
And without any word of protest he obeyed her.
* * * * *
It is strange what a difference the return of a friend may make to life!
Laura Pavely felt another woman as she busied herself that afternoon,
happily waiting for Oliver Tropenell. Honestly she hoped that Godfrey
would come back by the early afternoon train; he, too, would be glad to
see Oliver.
But the time went by, and there came no message through from London
ordering the car to be sent to the station, and Laura told herself that
perhaps Godfrey had gone straight to the Bank.
At last, a little after five, Oliver Tropenell came sauntering in, very
much as he used to saunter in, during the long happy summer days when
they had just become friends.
They had tea in Alice's day-nursery, and after tea, they all three
played games till it was nearly seven. Then, reluctantly, Oliver got up,
and said he must go home. And as he stood there, gazing down into her
face, Laura was struck, as she had been that morning in the first moment
of their meeting, by his look of fatigue and of strain. She, who was so
little apt to notice such things, unless her little girl was in
question, glanced up at him anxiously. "You don't look well," she said,
with some concern. "You don't look as if you'd had a holiday, Oliver."
"I shall soon get all right," he muttered, "now that I'm here, with
mother." And then, in a lower voice, he added the words, "and with you,
Laura."
She answered, nervously determined to hark back to what had been their
old, happy condition, "Alice and I have both missed you
dreadfully--haven't we, my darling?"
And Alice said gaily, "Oh yes, indeed, we have, mother." Then the child
turned, in her pretty, eager way to Oliver, "I hope you'll stay a long,
long time at Freshley. If only it snows, father thinks it may soon, you
and I can make a snow man!"
And Oliver, after a moment's pause, answered, "Yes, so we can, Alice.
I'm going to stay at home some time now, I hope."
And again, on hearing those words, Laura felt that new, unreasoning
thrill of joy which she had felt when she had seen Oliver standing in
the middle of his mother's stable-yard. Till that moment, and now
again, just now, she had not known how much she had missed her friend.
At last, when it was really time for him to go, Laura and Alice both
accompanied their guest to the hall. Then he turned abruptly to Laura:
"How about to-morrow? May I come to-morrow morning?"
And over Laura there came just a little tremour of misgiving. Surely
Oliver was going to be--reasonable?
"Yes," she said hesitatingly, "I shall be very glad to see you--though
of course I'm rather busy in the morning. To-morrow Mademoiselle is not
coming. Perhaps I'd better telephone early and tell you our plans for
the day. Godfrey will be so glad to see you, Oliver. He asked only the
other day when Mrs. Tropenell expected you back."
But to that remark Oliver made no answer.
After the heavy front door had shut behind her visitor, and when Alice
had already run out of the hall, Laura opened the front door again.
She called out: "Perhaps you'll meet Godfrey. He may be here any moment
now; if he's been at the Bank, he will walk out from Pewsbury."
But Oliver did not turn round. He was evidently already out of hearing.
Feeling strangely restless, Laura walked out a little way, closing the
door partly behind her. There was about a quarter of a mile of carriage
road from the house to the gate, but the night was very clear, the
ground hard and dry. Soon her eyes became accustomed to the darkness;
she could see Oliver's tall figure rapidly growing less and less, dimmer
and dimmer. Every moment she expected to see another, still more
familiar, form emerge from out of the darkness. But, after pacing up and
down for perhaps as long as ten minutes, she went back into the house.
Godfrey was evidently coming home by the last train.
Moved by an indefinable feeling of peace as well as of contentment,
Laura sat up long that night, waiting for her husband. She had made up
her mind to tell him, not only that Oliver had come back, but also that
her brother was on his way to Mexico. Half ashamedly she asked herself
why they should not all three go back to the happy conditions which had
lasted all the summer?
But there came neither Godfrey nor news of him, and Laura spent the
evening of a day of which the date was to become memorable, not
unhappily in reading.
When it came to half-past eleven, she knew that her husband would not be
home that night, but, even so, she sat up till the tall lacquered clock
in the hall struck out the chimes of midnight. Then, a little
reluctantly, she went upstairs, telling herself that if in the morning
there was still no news of Godfrey, she and Alice would stroll along to
Rosedean. Katty might know something of Godfrey's movements, for when
she had been last at The Chase an illusion had been made to a bit of
business he was to do for her in London, which would necessitate some
correspondence.