_CLOUDS IN THE SKY._
"Desmond, dear, is it really necessary?"
"Of course it is necessary, you foolish child! Why, you have never
spent a week in town in your life. You have not seen a London
season, or been presented, or anything! You know it is part of the
programme of the year. I think you will like the house I have
chosen; but of course you can go up and inspect it, and see if there
are any objections."
Odeyne looked at her husband with something of appeal in her eyes.
As she did so she wondered again for the hundredth time whether it
was her fancy that a change was slowly, but surely, passing over
Desmond. She had fought all through the autumn against her growing
fears. She had striven by every loving artifice in her power, and by
the strength of her own true love, to keep him as far as possible the
Desmond of old, the husband she had wedded with such hope and
confidence two short years ago.
They had been gay during the past months; visiting other houses
occasionally, more often entertaining a large house party at the
Chase (an alternative greatly preferred by Odeyne, on account of
little Guy), their domestic life had, of course, been much interfered
with. They lived, as it were, in public, and had little time for
confidential intercourse--a thing which Desmond appeared, if
anything, rather to shirk--but Odeyne's patient love and tenderness
never failed her, and seemed to act in a measure as a restraining
influence upon her husband. She had striven to believe that things
were well with him, that he was returning to those more legitimate
occupations and interests which had once been his. She had rejoiced
when the house emptied itself, and she was free from the obligation
to associate with men whom in her heart of hearts she dreaded and
disliked. She strove in all things to play the part of hostess
courteously, but she heartily disliked and feared some of her guests,
and was rejoiced to see them go.
Earnestly did she hope that now they might resume a life of quiet
domestic happiness. Little Guy was just reaching the fascinating age
when walking and talking begin to be attempted, and Odeyne looked
forward to seeing the father taking a fond pride and delight in his
beautiful boy.
Desmond was affectionate by nature. With all his faults he had never
failed her there. She was sure that the little one would win his
way, when once the father had time and opportunity to notice him. Of
course he had not wanted the little fellow shown off and brought down
with so many bachelor guests in the house. He dreaded being
ridiculed as the fond father and doting parent, and had given pretty
strict orders that little Guy was to be kept to his own quarters.
Nor had Odeyne desired it otherwise with the company they had
recently entertained. But, oh, how she had looked forward to the
time when they would be alone together, with the bright spring days
before them! How happy they would be then! Desmond was always
different when he got away from the influences of those fast and
loud-voiced fashionable people to whom he seemed to have taken such a
fancy. Odeyne lived through the winter in the hopes of better days
in store, and just when these seemed about to commence, up cropped
the old talk of the London season, and although Odeyne had said all
along that she did not desire to go in the least, and much preferred
the quiet of the Chase, Desmond seemed to take no note of her words,
although from time to time she hoped that the plan would fall to the
ground.
He had not spoken of it all the last week, though he had been a great
deal in town--up every day from early morning till quite the late
evening train. Still he had not spoken of moving there until to-day,
when he came home full of pride and delight in the house he had
found, and the gay times they were to have.
Had he forgotten, or did he simply ignore what Odeyne had so often
said on the subject? As she looked at him, asking herself the
question, she was struck anew with the sense that Desmond had
changed--was changing month by month--that she could no longer reckon
upon influencing him, pleading with him, modifying his ideas by
showing him how little they accorded with her own. The loving give
and take which had characterised their early married life was slowly
but surely giving place to the arbitrary rule of the husband, to
which the wife must submit whether she would or no. Perhaps Odeyne
had never realised this so keenly as at the present moment, and the
pang it brought with it was sharp and deep.
"It is not likely that I shall find fault with any house you have
chosen, Desmond," she answered gently, for she never permitted
herself to speak a sharp or angry word to her husband. "You are a
great deal more particular than I am. But you know I did not want to
go to town at all. I have said so all along."
He laughed in the boisterous but mirthless way which had grown upon
him of late.
"Oh, that is all nonsense, you know. You must have a London season
and see the world. You must be presented and see something of life.
One only vegetates down here."
"I have seen a good deal of life even down here latterly, Desmond,
and as for being presented, and seeing a little of London Society, a
visit to Beatrice would be amply sufficient. I am sorry that you are
determined upon taking a house for ourselves. I think it is a
needless expense."
"Oh, bother your everlasting talk about expense!" cried Desmond, more
roughly than Odeyne had ever heard him speak before. "What does it
matter to you so long as I have money to meet it? Your economical
scruples are really rather trying, my dear."
"I am sorry you are vexed with them," answered Odeyne with quiet
dignity. "But you know I was brought up so differently."
"Yes, but you need not for ever play the country parson's daughter!
I wish you would brisk up and be a little more lively and _chic_--if
you know what that means! One gets tired of hearing one's wife
always dubbed the fair Puritan, or the uncloistered nun, or even the
patient Griselda!"
Odeyne was more deeply hurt than she had ever been before. Something
in her husband's tone and look cut her to the heart. It was with
difficulty she was able to command her voice and to speak naturally.
She would not attempt any reply to his last words; she went back to
the question of the house.
"I hope there are pleasant rooms that will make into nurseries for
Guy," she said. "I care more about that than anything. I am sorry
for the child's sake that it is necessary to go to town at all; but
if it must be, the great thing is to be sure that we have suitable
quarters for him."
Desmond looked rather taken aback.
"Why, you don't think of taking the boy, do you?"
"Did you think of leaving him behind?"
"Why, yes, to be sure. Haven't you always said how bad London is for
country-bred children?"
"I fear it is. But it is still worse for a child to be taken from
his mo--from his parents for an indefinite time."
"Oh, nonsense! He would be much better down here."
"No, Desmond, he would not!" answered Odeyne, with unwonted firmness.
"If things were as they used to be in this house, if we had our
respectable, faithful servants--those whom your mother engaged for us
at the outset, some of whom had lived in your family before--if our
old household were here now, I might be able to consider the point
with different feelings. As it is, it is out of the question. It
was all Hannah could do to get along at all, just those few days we
have been away at different times on our visits--never more than ten
days at any one time. I told you when we came back what sort of
goings on there were in our absence, but you only laughed and made
light of it, and said it was the way of the world nowadays. You know
that I cannot cope with it single-handed, when I have not the power
to dismiss the ringleaders. I would no more leave Guy in the house
when we are away, now that he is beginning to notice and understand,
than I would put him in a den of wild beasts. Nor would Hannah bear
it, if I wished to do it. If we go to London for the season the
child must come too. I have given way to you so far in everything,
as you well know; but in this I cannot and will not. I have my
duties as a mother as well as those as a wife."
It was almost the first time that Odeyne had asserted herself in this
way, and it was not without its effect upon Desmond. He did not
gainsay her--perhaps he was a little ashamed at having the condition
of his household so clearly set before him; he only shrugged his
shoulders and said--
"Well, I think you will find a young child a great hamper and fetter
in London, and if he gets ill you will only have yourself to thank.
Why not send him to the mother and Maud, as Beatrice is going to send
Gus?"
"Mamma would not have room for two children and two nurses," answered
Odeyne. "Gus is quite sufficient of a handful alone, as Maud has
said."
She did not like to add that Gus had learnt from his father and his
father's associates words that she would not for anything hear from
Guy's innocent little lips. It went to her heart to hear how the
unconscious, sturdy little fellow rattled out his ugly vocabulary,
with the air of one who expects his audience to laugh. Odeyne felt
more like crying sometimes when she had the child in her company.
Doubtless the best possible thing for him would be a residence under
his grandmother's roof, with Maud's firm hand upon him. For since he
had grown to the engaging and prattling age, Beatrice had suddenly
become immensely proud of showing him off, and he had been
outrageously spoiled all through the past winter. Neither parent,
however, desired to be bothered with a young child in London, so he
was to be sent to his grandmother's safe keeping, as the Vanboroughs
had an offer of a tenant for Rotherham Park, and, let matters be
never so well with them, the Hon. Algernon never refused an offer
that would bring grist to the mill.
Odeyne went up to look at the town house next day. It was a very
sumptuously furnished place, with a good hall and staircase, and fine
reception-rooms. The other parts of the house were less to her
liking, and it was not at all easy to find quarters for the child and
his nurse, as Desmond was exceedingly averse to giving up any of the
best bedrooms for that purpose. He and Odeyne came nearer to a real
dispute upon that point than they had ever done in their lives
before. It required all Odeyne's patience, tact, and firmness to get
the matter settled without harsh words being spoken.
Fortunately Desmond quickly put away from him any vexed question,
and, as he was very much delighted with the house, and with the
prospect of his London season, he soon forgot his annoyance, and was
quite merry and chatty as they sat at lunch in a fine shop, where he
said the best meals in town were to be had.
"It will be such a capital thing to be so near to business!" he said.
"It's all very well for you down at the Chase to talk of the delights
of the country; but when one has to spend a couple of hours a day in
a grilling railway carriage the joy is considerably modified, I can
tell you. I do want to be in the City a good deal now. There are a
great many very important things going on wanting my constant
presence. I shall be exceedingly glad to be within half-an-hour's
drive of the--of the office; and you have the Park so near that you
will hardly feel cooped up at all. It's almost like living in the
country."
Odeyne smiled, without exactly agreeing to the proposition, but
answered that if Desmond had business that required a sojourn in
town, she would do her best to be happy.
"When you put it on the ground of amusement, well I know that I
should be happier at home; but if your duties require more of your
time, why, that is another thing altogether."
"Well, they really do," answered Desmond eagerly. "I don't bother
you with details, you know."
"No, sometimes I wish you would tell me a little more. Everything
that you do would be interesting to me."
"Oh, you wouldn't understand details. They are only for men. But I
assure you I have a great many things going on that need much
personal overlooking. It doesn't do to be too far away. Not even
Garth and the telegraph can do all that is necessary. It will be an
immense boon to be so near the spot. You will have your reward,
little wife. If you don't like London so very much, you will like to
think that your husband is growing to be a really wealthy and
important man of business!"
Odeyne smiled a little sadly.
"I do not think that wealth and happiness have a very close
connection, Desmond, dear. Sometimes looking back, it seems to me
that we were happier before we were so rich. The old days were very
sweet, and we had all that we could want then."
For a moment a shadow fell across Desmond's face, and then he turned
to Odeyne with something like the old look in his eyes.
"Little wife, I'm not sure but what you're right," he said, with
sudden energy. "But look here, let's make a sort of bargain. You go
through this one season my way, and leave me a free hand with my
undertakings. Then at the end of that time we will go home; and if
things have turned out as I expect, I shall be able to retire upon my
laurels, and not trouble myself with money-grubbing any more! If we
are not millionaires we shall be rich enough for all practical
purposes; and we will settle down like staid married people, and turn
over a new leaf--or rather, perhaps, turn back to the old one, and
make that our model."
Odeyne felt the tears very near to her eyes as she said--
"Oh, Desmond, if we only could!"
"Well, why not? I declare we will! This sort of thing is a
tremendous strain. I couldn't stand too much of it. I might even
lose my nerve, and that would be fatal. No, no! we will go through
with it this time, and then we will retire from the world, and live
for one another--and the boy!"
Storm clouds had long been hanging in Odeyne's sky, but as she heard
these words, and felt indeed that Desmond was sincere in speaking
them, she trusted that the sunshine was not far away, and that if she
could but be hopeful and brave better times might yet be in store for
them.
She went home happier than she had started out, although the three
months' residence in town was an inevitable thing.
* * * * * *
"You have heard of the master's latest idea?" said Walter Garth a few
days later, coming in upon his wife after the close of his day's work.
Alice looked up with a rather troubled face. She had altered a good
deal of late. Her pretty face had grown pale and rather thin. In
her eyes there was often a startled, hunted look, as though she were
suffering from some undefined terror. She was still dainty and
pretty, with a lady-like air and way of speaking, but she had laid
aside a good deal of her old archness and affectation. She looked as
though she had other matters to think of than just the adornment of
her own person.
Walter Garth had changed very little in outward appearance, save that
he looked increasingly respectable and gentleman-like. His manner
was still very quiet, but it had acquired an ease and decision which
showed that he was accustomed to give advice and to meet with
respectful hearing. He dressed well, and spent his evenings now
almost invariably in reading, and in the study of some foreign
language.
Alice used to wonder at this, and ask what good it was to him: but
she never got anything from him but a rather sardonic smile, and the
reply that foreign travel was often a pleasant relaxation, and that
when he had made his fortune he might like to show his wife something
of the world.
Truth to tell, Alice had grown just a little bit afraid of her
husband of late. She was certain that he had plans and projects in
his head of which he never consciously spoke. He was affectionate
and indulgent to her in his way, but she always felt that one half of
his life was a sealed book to her.
The only glimpses she ever got of it were at night sometimes, when he
would talk in his sleep, and utter mysterious phrases, the import of
which she never fully understood, but which filled her with a vague
sense of dismay.
He appeared at these times to be like a man walking on the verge of a
precipice, or upon ice so dangerously thin that it may at any moment
give way beneath the feet.
How she obtained this idea she never could actually say, for it is
always strangely difficult to recall the words of a person speaking
in sleep, when once the moment has passed by. Here and there a
phrase would remain with Alice, and once she asked Walter if he could
tell her what it meant; but he gave her such a strange, stern,
startled look, and asked her so sharply where she had picked up the
words, that she never dared repeat the experiment, and had to make up
some false explanation of having seen them in a newspaper; and even
so she was certain that he was only partially satisfied.
Yet there was one sentence, often repeated, that always stayed with
her, do as she would to forget it. He often spoke it in his sleep,
when evidently troubled by bad dreams, and lying tossing to and fro.
"And at worst there are always the jewels--always the jewels!" he
would keep saying; and Alice, as she heard him, would shiver all
over, and ask herself timidly what he could mean. So a certain
reserve had grown up between the pair, and Alice was not the proud
and happy wife she had once been.
At her husband's question she looked troubled and said--
"Do you mean about going to London with them? But you won't do that,
will you, Walter?"
"Why shouldn't I?" he asked quickly.
"Why, we live here, and you can go up every day. What does the
master want beyond that?"
Alice could hardly have said herself why she dreaded the idea of
anything which would bring Walter into closer relations with his
master, but dread it she did. She had hoped that the move to London
would break that constant intercourse, and transform him more to the
office clerk again, and keep him away from Desmond St. Claire; but it
seemed that it was not to be.
"We can live anywhere where my work lies, for that matter," he
answered rather curtly, "and my work is where Mr. St. Claire is. In
point of fact he rather begins to want a private secretary, and there
is nobody who could do the work for him half so well as myself."
"But you belong to the office, Walter."
He gave a little dry laugh.
"I belong, if you like to employ that phrase, to Mr. St. Claire, and
have done this long while. The office has seen precious little of us
these last months, I can assure you. We have business on hand of
which the office knows nothing, although we keep up a sort of
attendance there."
Alice looked troubled and perplexed, though she remained silent. She
was a little afraid of questioning Walter.
"The long and the short of it, Alice, is that Mr. St. Claire can't do
without me. He is going the pace altogether too fast, and it is all
he can do to keep his nerve. He is wonderfully quick and clever, but
he lacks stamina, if you know what I mean. He can set things going,
but they would often go to pieces if I were not at his elbow to look
after him, and see that he forgets nothing. If he would be content
to give himself unreservedly to the business, he might do a lot, but
he is a bit of a fool too, and he will have his pleasures. He will
burn his candle at both ends. I've spoken till I'm tired of
speaking. He's a man that will go his own way; but he knows that he
can't do without me, and now he wants me to give up everything else
and live in the house as his private secretary, and really I believe
I must do it, at least if things are to have any chance of pulling
through. I can tell you it is not child's play that is before us
these next weeks; but if we can pull through we shall land a big
fish, and no mistake!"
"And if you can't?" asked Alice, her face growing rather pale at the
thought.
Walter slightly shrugged his shoulders.
"Oh, we don't think about that--it's better not. We want all our
wits and our nerve. Now, Alice, don't you babble about these things
to anybody in this world, least of all to Mrs. St. Claire. You know
how many times I've told you that men have been ruined before this by
the gossiping tongues of foolish wives."
"I shall not say a word, Walter, you may be quite sure of that,"
answered Alice a little bitterly. "Mrs. St. Claire has quite enough
troubles of her own without my adding to them. But if you go with
the family to London, what am I to do?"
"Well, that you can arrange with your lady. If she likes you to come
too, so much the better. I am not a proud man. I never profess to
be other than I am. I have married a lady's-maid, and if my wife
likes, under the circumstances, to go on with her attendance upon her
mistress, I shall not interfere."
"If you go, I would rather be with you," said Alice; and in her heart
she felt that she would rather be near her mistress if trouble were
to fall upon them than anywhere else in the world.
Of late Alice had begun to cling more and more closely to her lady.
Odeyne was the one person in the world in whom she felt a perfect
confidence and trust. She was always the same--always kind and
considerate, and the girl was acute enough to see that there were
troubles and clouds at the great house as well as those at her own
home.
It was an extra trouble to Odeyne to leave the Chase just now,
because Guy's wedding with Cissy was to take place soon, and she felt
that Desmond should have postponed the London visit till afterwards.
But Desmond seemed to think it absurd to pay any heed to that event.
They would run over for it if possible; and of course Guy and any of
his family might make what use they liked of the Chase in the absence
of its owners. But as for making any sacrifice of his own personal
convenience, that plainly never entered into his head.
It hurt Odeyne to have to write home with nothing better than the
offer of an empty house for the home party; but perhaps Edmund had
prepared them beforehand, for they made no lamentations or
remonstrances; and yet Odeyne felt that she would almost sooner they
had done so. It seemed so strange to feel that a little barrier of
reserve had crept up between them. Yet how could either she or they
speak words which should cast any reflection upon Desmond?
It was a comfort to Odeyne to hear that Alice could and would
accompany her as maid. She had feared that Garth would think it
derogatory to his wife's dignity that she should continue in this
capacity.
Alice and Hannah, the nurse, were fully to be trusted where little
Guy was concerned, and Odeyne, who knew her life would be a very full
one, was greatly relieved that Alice would be near to Hannah when she
had to leave the child.
"It is only for three months, Alice," she said, trying to speak
cheerfully. "We country people do not like the thought of London;
but the days will go by very fast, and then we shall come home and
settle for good, and forget all the disagreeables, and be happy
again!"