UNEXPECTED SUPPORT
The day after Andrew's return he was sitting in the library at
Ghyllside, waiting for dinner. Though a fire burned on the hearth by
which he lounged, cigarette in hand, two of the tall windows were open
and the air that flowed in was soft and muggy. He had spent most of
the day in shooting, and after a long walk across wet meadows and a
boggy moor he now felt very comfortable and somewhat drowsy. He would
have to bestir himself when the guests he expected arrived, and he was
enjoying a few minutes' rest. His cigarette was, however, only half
smoked when Wannop walked in.
"As I didn't see you downstairs I came up to look for you; Gertrude's
with Hilda. Haven't Florence and Leonard arrived yet?"
"Train seems to be late," Andrew replied. "I suppose I should have
gone to meet them, but I felt lazy."
"Was that all?"
"It wasn't my only reason. To tell the truth, I shirked the drive home
with Leonard. I'm a poor dissembler and our relations are rather
strained. It will be easier to meet him when there are others about."
"They'll be on his side."
"I expect so; but I'm not afraid of direct opposition. It's beating
about a delicate subject and trying to keep on safe ground that
bothers me."
"I know; it's embarrassing. You won't be able to broach matters of any
importance to-night."
"No. We'll have one or two outside people here and I want my
homecoming to be harmonious. We'll let things stand over till
to-morrow."
"Feeling nervous about it?" Wannop suggested with a grin.
"I'll confess that I do. It's the preliminary tussle, and I haven't
many backers."
"You needn't be downhearted. I don't know that your people are
remarkably broad-minded, but they're straight--I'll say that even for
Robert. They'll come round if they think you're right. But don't be
apologetic; take a firm tone. Manner goes a long way and, after all,
you are the head of Allinson's."
"The trouble is that I've allowed Leonard to usurp my place and he'll
be hard to depose."
Andrew rose, for there were voices and footsteps below, and they went
down to meet the arriving guests. The hall was large and square, with
seats in recesses and one or two small tables and comfortable chairs
scattered about. Mrs. Fenwood had come with Robert Allinson, who shook
hands with Andrew heartily, though there was a hint of constraint in
his manner afterward. He was not quite satisfied with Andrew's conduct
before leaving England, and could not forget that his interference in
the matter of Mrs. Olcott's house had been thwarted. He regarded
Wannop, who was saying something humorous to Mrs. Fenwood, with a
suspicious eye.
Then there was a rattle of wheels outside and Florence Hathersage came
in with Leonard. He expressed his pleasure at Andrew's safe return and
after a few friendly words hurried off to his room. When he came down
again three more guests arrived, and Andrew went eagerly to meet them.
Ethel Hillyard and Mrs. Olcott were foremost, and after welcoming them
Andrew turned toward a man with a lined, brown face, bearing the stamp
of the soldier. It was with marked cordiality that they shook hands.
"It's good to see you, Tom," Andrew said. "I heard you had just got
home, and though it's an unhealthy country, you're looking very fit."
"A little fever now and then, though I escaped fairly well," rejoined
the other with a friendly smile. "I have a good deal to say to you
when we get a chance." He lowered his voice as he added: "I'm deeply
grateful."
The meeting had a dramatic interest to the onlookers. Every eye had
been fixed on the stranger. As he had come with Mrs. Olcott his
identity was obvious; and the good-will both men had shown had its
significance. Then Andrew led the Olcotts forward and presented them
to the elderly unmarried relative who managed his household and looked
after Hilda. Mrs. Olcott's color was slightly heightened, though she
smiled, for she understood the interest she had aroused and this was
her triumph. She had produced the husband whose absence had excited
comment and whose existence some had ventured to doubt. Moreover, he
was a man to be proud of, and nobody who had witnessed their meeting
could doubt that he was Andrew's trusted friend. Robert Allinson
looked at him earnestly and then turned to Leonard with a frown. He
was narrow and censorious, but he was just, and he felt that he had
been mistaken, or perhaps misled.
They went in to dinner and Andrew sat at the head of his table, saying
enough to keep conversation going, but content to give Leonard the
lead. Considering how he stood toward his host, Hathersage showed
admirable tact. He skilfully turned every topic which might prove
difficult and kept the others on safe ground; he was witty in a
polished manner, but if anything a little too obviously at ease. For
the first time it struck one or two of the party with surprise that
there was something in Andrew's bearing which his more brilliant
brother-in-law lacked. The soldier from tropical Africa bore the same
elusive stamp of command, sincerity and steadfastness. Ethel Hillyard,
studying them carefully, decided that Leonard was, by comparison,
cheap and superficial.
Still, it was largely due to his efforts that dinner was a pleasant
function without an awkward pause in it; and afterward the guests
dispersed through several rooms to amuse themselves. When Andrew found
a place by Ethel Hillyard in a recess in the hall, she surveyed him
with smiling scrutiny.
"I think you did well in going to Canada," she said. "Though I can't
quite express what I mean, you look bigger."
"As a matter of fact, I'm a good deal lighter."
Ethel laughed.
"Oh, well, I don't want to make you embarrassed! I believe you had a
trying time. Looking after the silver mine didn't prove as easy as you
expected?"
"I don't remember what I expected, but I found it very difficult."
"So I gathered. Antony Wannop seems to think the reforms you have in
view won't be popular. I suppose you have been summoned home to
explain?"
"No," said Andrew; "I came. There's a difference."
"It's marked," Ethel answered. "But we are old friends, Andrew;
follow your own bent, stick to your guns. Whatever plans you have
determined on will be fair. Once before I told you not to be daunted;
but it strikes me that you need less encouragement now."
"Thank you," said Andrew. "I'm sorry I can't tell you much about the
matter. You see----"
"It's a family affair, and after all I have my ideas. But you made
some new friends by the Lake of Shadows, didn't you?"
"Yes; staunch ones. They showed their friendship in a very practical
way. That's something I owe to you; I suspect that you have been
prejudicing them in my favor."
"Then you have a good opinion of Geraldine?"
Andrew colored as he met her inquiring glance.
"Yes," he said simply, "the highest I'm capable of forming."
Ethel smiled rather curiously. Two or three years earlier she had
contemplated the possibility of Andrew's seeking her for his wife, but
her feelings had not been deeply stirred, and when she saw that she
had taken too much for granted she quietly submitted and retained a
very friendly interest in him. Now, however, there was something
grimly amusing in the thought that she had given him to Geraldine.
"Well," she said, "I'm sure she merits it. But to speak of something
else, I'm glad you asked the Olcotts here."
"That's another matter in which I'm indebted to you. What do you think
of Olcott? He sat next to you."
"A delightful man." Ethel, who was direct and fearless, looked up at
her companion. "No one could doubt Mrs. Olcott's devotion to him, and
I think it's warranted." Then she rose. "You must have a good deal to
say to the others and I mustn't monopolize you."
Andrew went to the smoking-room, which proved to be unoccupied, but as
he was leaving it Olcott came in.
"I stole away and followed you," he said. "Sit down a minute and light
up."
"Cigars in that drawer," said Andrew, lighting a cigarette. "Drinks in
the cupboard below."
Olcott took out two glasses and filled them.
"It's your house, but I feel at home."
"So you ought!"
Olcott raised his glass.
"Here's to you, old friend, and may you get with full measure, as you
give! I can't wish you anything better." He put down his glass and
continued: "And now we'll proceed to business. As soon as I'd had a
talk with Clare I paid a check into your bank."
"Sure it's convenient?"
"Quite: I had my duties increased and, what was much less usual, a
corresponding increase of pay. I'd rather have come over when you were
alone, and I only got home yesterday, but Clare insisted on my
appearing to-night. Can you guess the reason?"
"Yes." Andrew flushed but looked at his friend with steady eyes. "I
got very savage about the matter, and wondered whether I'd been in any
way to blame. Still, you left things pretty mixed when you went
away--your wife needed somebody to straighten them out, and I'm not a
tactful person."
"I'd only a day or two's notice, and there wasn't time to arrange
matters properly. But it's hard to imagine that people who knew you
could be such credulous fools. I mustn't say anything stronger of your
relatives."
"I don't think being my relatives makes them any brighter," Andrew
replied with a grin. "My father was the last genius in the family;
talent often skips a generation. But we'll let the matter drop."
"If you find gratitude hard to put up with. It seems that your sister
Hilda has told Clare something about your adventures. You had some
rough experiences in Canada?"
"One or two. I shouldn't imagine they were uncommon in West Africa."
"You're right," returned Olcott grimly. "We must have a long talk; but
here's the clergyman coming in search of you and he looks as if he had
something important to say."
He withdrew and Robert Allinson sat down with a confused but resolute
air.
"Andrew," he said, "I have come to express my regret at having wronged
you by suspicions which I am now ashamed of."
"After all, perhaps you had some excuse. I wasn't as careful as I
should have been; but I'm getting tired of the subject."
"It's painful, but I must go on. I knew what a mistake I had made as
soon as I saw Olcott come in; but you don't understand yet how far my
suspicions led me. I felt it my duty to see Judson about Mrs. Olcott's
lease."
"Ah! You mean you put the screw on him? I'm glad your plot seems to
have failed."
"So am I," said Robert. "I'll confess that I was disappointed at first
and suspected Wannop of interfering. As you know, he's lax in his
views."
"It's unfortunate the laxity you complain of isn't more common."
Andrew broke into a smile. "No doubt Wannop was too clever for you;
but I don't bear you any grudge. I believe you meant well, and good
intentions seem to excuse a good deal of harshness."
"I did what I thought was my duty," Robert said with dignity, and
moved away.
Shortly afterward Andrew entered the drawing-room, where he was
surprised to see Robert talking to Mrs. Olcott. The clergyman looked
unusually solemn and Mrs. Olcott's expression was resigned. Hilda,
joining her brother, glanced toward the other two.
"Isn't he amusing?" she said with a soft laugh. "He's doing penance
and feeling as awkward as he deserves. No doubt Mrs. Olcott feels
horribly bored."
"What do you know about the matter?" Andrew asked sharply.
"More than you think. Robert believes he's making full amends by
countenancing Mrs. Olcott as he's doing. After this, of course, nobody
need fight shy of her."
Andrew knew that reproof would be useless; Hilda would laugh at him.
"Well," he said, "I've a higher opinion of Robert now than I've had
for some time."
"He's pompous and silly," Hilda declared. "Sometimes I feel sorry for
him, sometimes he makes me positively wicked; but after all he has his
good points. For one thing, he's not afraid."
She went away when Andrew joined his elder sisters, and the evening
passed pleasantly. When the party broke up Andrew strolled out to the
terrace and leaned on the low wall. There was no moon, but the night
was clear and mild. Bare trees rose in shadowy masses across the dark
stretch of lawn; the ghyll beyond it was filled with mist, out of
which there rose the gurgle of running water. In the distance a ridge
of moor cut darkly against the sky. The lights in the house went out
one by one; the stillness was soothing and Andrew became lost in
thought.
He knew and loved every wood and field in the dim countryside he
looked out upon. He had spent happy, healthful days on the purple
moors when the grouse came flitting across the heather; among the
turnips and yellow stubble in the valley where the partridge coveys
lay; and by deep pools in the ghyll where the silver sea-trout gleamed
through the brown peat water. It was a harmless life he had led there,
but he felt that it had been a wasted one. Its peaceful sounds had
dulled his ears to the clamor of the busy world where the work he had
neglected badly needed doing. He was not a prig and felt no call to be
a general reformer, but the Allinson honor was tainted and it was his
business to remove the stain. He might fail, but he must concentrate
upon the task all the power he possessed.
Then he began to consider ways and means. A good deal depended on his
relatives' attitude. They could hamper him by their resistance and he
wanted their support, though he was prepared to go on without it.
To-night they had obviously acquitted him of a supposititious folly,
which was something to the good; indeed, he had been especially
pleased by Robert's frank expression of regret. He had looked for
determined opposition from the clergyman, but now he did not despair
of winning him. Though prejudiced and conventional, Robert was
sincere, and that was a great thing.
To-morrow evening the family council must be held. He imagined that
Leonard was clever enough to have put him in the wrong beforehand. He
would, no doubt, be called on to explain his rash interference with
the company's Canadian affairs, and he must make the best defense he
could. Indeed, he must bear with a good deal, if needful, to make his
defense effective; but, if this could not be done, there was another
line he meant to take. He would let those who misjudged him know that
he was the head of Allinson's and would go on as he had begun.