YOOTHA’S PRESENTIMENT.
Meanwhile Yootha Hagerston was secretly becoming more and more enamored
of Captain Preston. It was the first time in her life she had ever
really cared for any man; until now she had followed the fashion
prevalent among many women of pretending to consider love and deep
affection “all nonsense” and the hall-mark of a weak intelligence. She
had come to know his movements and had discovered some of his haunts,
with the result that she rarely missed an opportunity of meeting him
“by chance.”
And, though he would not have admitted it, even to himself, Preston
had for some weeks past been singularly attracted by Yootha. He had
liked her that day he had met her for the first time, at lunch at
the Ritz and afterwards at Jessica’s musical At Home, though the
woman who had most interested him then had been Yootha’s friend, Cora
Hartsilver. But now it was different. There was something about the
girl, apart from her looks, which appealed to him. What it was he could
not have explained. It might have been her sympathetic nature, or her
personality, or her temperament; in any case he felt strangely drawn
towards her every time they met.
On the lovely July afternoon Levi Schomberg had called to see Jessica
and Stapleton, and had afterwards wandered into the Park, Yootha
was on the river with Preston. A friend of his whose home was at
Pangbourne had, he had told her, on being suddenly ordered abroad,
told him he could, during his absence, make use of his punt if ever he
felt inclined to; though Preston had himself just rented a house-boat
which was moored close to Maidenhead. Until now he had not felt
inclined; punting alone is a dull form of amusement, and Preston had
comparatively few friends in London. Then one day, while thinking of
Yootha, the idea had occurred to him that she might like a river picnic
from time to time, and he had hinted as much to her; Pangbourne was
more solitary than Maidenhead he reflected.
They were in a narrow estuary--it was not a backwater--with the punt
moored to a tree, and for some moments neither had spoken. No sound,
save of birds singing in the woods around, broke the almost perfect
stillness. The air was sultry, as though thunder were in the air.
“How fortunate I should have accepted La Planta’s invitation to lunch
at the Ritz that day last August,” Preston said suddenly. “I did not
want to lunch with him, I remember, but now I am glad I did.”
“Why are you glad?” she asked, looking across at him. She was lying in
the stern, propped up with cushions, and made a pretty picture in her
big hat and the becoming boating frock which revealed her figure.
He gazed at her without answering. Then, as if to conceal his
embarrassment, he began to light his briar.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he replied awkwardly, tossing the match into the
water. “That was the first time I met you, if you remember.”
If she remembered! Could she ever forget? That was the thought which
flashed into her brain, but she did not utter it. Instead, she said
carelessly:
“So it was. And the first time you met Jessica, too, wasn’t it?”
He made an impatient movement.
“Please don’t remind me of that. Every time I think of that woman I
feel positively vicious.”
“I thought that day,” Yootha continued, after a pause, “that you had
eyes for nobody but Cora. You do like Cora, don’t you?”
“Of course I like her, though not, perhaps, as much as you like her.
Nobody could help liking her--nobody who counts.”
“I am glad you say that. In my opinion she is the one woman in the
world. I simply worship her, and always have. She is so true, so
absolutely free from insincerity. You never met her husband, I think?”
“No--fortunately.”
“Why fortunately?”
“From what I have heard about him he must have been a terrible
outsider. Was she very unhappy with him?”
“Very. They ought never to have married. Myself, I hated him. He was
so selfish, so self-satisfied, in short such a bounder. I ought not, I
suppose, to say that of a dead man, but I can’t help it. He was odious.
I know you would have thought so had you known him.”
Preston went on sucking at his pipe for some moments, without speaking.
Presently his eyes met Yootha’s. He tried to look away, but could not.
And then, all at once, the girl gave a curious little laugh. It was so
unlike her to laugh apparently at nothing, that Preston laughed too.
“What are we both laughing at?” she exclaimed, suddenly recovering. She
had colored unexpectedly, and Preston noticed that the hand which hung
over the side of the punt trembled.
“I can’t think,” he said. “I fancy I was laughing because I feel so
happy.”
“Do you really,” she asked, and he saw that her chest rose and fell
beneath the flimsy material she wore. “I wonder why?”
“Your cigarette had gone out,” he remarked inconsequently. “Try one of
mine. I think you will like them.”
He stood up in the punt, and, balancing himself carefully, stepped over
to where she lay. Then, kneeling beside her, he held out the case which
he had produced from his pocket.
He sat close to her when he had lit her cigarette. Somehow her
proximity seemed to agitate him. He wanted to speak, to go on
conversing on ordinary topics, as they had been, but words refused to
come.
And at that instant a drop of rain splashed upon the punt. Without
their noticing it the sky had become overcast. Heavy drops followed in
quick succession, and then, without warning, a flash almost blinded
them, and on the same instant a peal of thunder crackled overhead and
all around them like rifle fire.
When they had set out, early in the afternoon, the sky had been
cloudless, so that neither had coats or wraps. Just in time Preston
snatched up his jacket and flung it over Yootha, a moment later rain
came down like a shower in the tropics.
Pulling the punt in closer under the bank to get what shelter was
obtainable, Preston looked down anxiously at his companion to whom his
thin jacket afforded but scant protection. She was smiling up at him
and looked perfectly contented, save for her anxiety about his getting
drenched.
And still the rain poured down. Judging by the sky, it was not going to
stop very soon. Flash after flash lit up the surrounding fields, and
the thunder pealed almost incessantly. And then all at once, to add to
their discomfort, wind began to rise.
That storm, as some may remember, was said to be the worst London had
known for twenty years. It lasted throughout the night and well on into
the following morning, wreaking havoc in the metropolis and in the
provinces, and particularly up the Thames valley.
And it was a storm which Preston and Yootha Hagerston are not likely
to forget, for it broke down the barrier of reserve between them so
effectually that by the time they got home that evening in a car--which
Preston with great difficulty succeeded in chartering--they were to all
intents engaged.
Thinking over, next day, the events of the previous afternoon, Preston
smiled at the thought of all that had occurred. Had anybody told him
in the morning that within four-and-twenty hours he would be engaged
to be married, he could have laughed the speaker to scorn. Yet, as so
often happens, the seemingly impossible had come about, and he began
seriously to review the situation.
Yes, he was happy. Very happy. Of that he felt convinced. Often in his
time he had met a girl with whom he thought he might be happy should
she consent to become his wife, but he had never felt sufficiently sure
of himself to propose. And now he thanked heaven for that diffidence,
for he knew the only woman in the world he had ever really wanted as a
wife was Yootha Hagerston.
They did not meet again until the following afternoon. He had
telephoned about noon to ask if she would have tea with him at his
rooms in Fig Tree Court, and her reply was what might have been
expected.
“My darling,” he exclaimed, folding her in his arms and pressing
her lips to his as they met in the little passage which his servant
called “the hall.” “If you knew how happy you have made me, how I now
realize that for weeks past I have wanted you to become mine--mine for
ever----”
He stopped, for she was sobbing, clinging to him as though she could
never let him go.
“What is it? What is the matter?” he exclaimed in alarm, raising her
face from his shoulder and trying to look into her eyes. “Why are you
crying, Yootha?”
And then, all at once, he realized that her tears were tears of
happiness.
“Only one thing makes me anxious, Charlie,” she said later, after
tea, “and that is that something may come between us--and prevent
our marriage. I don’t know why, but I have a presentiment, a sort of
feeling--oh, I can’t explain, I don’t know what it is, I hardly know
what I am saying I feel so happy, so absolutely and perfectly happy.
But can we hurry on the wedding, dearest? Couldn’t we be married by
special license, or something. I don’t want to wait a day longer, not
an hour longer than is absolutely necessary. Life is so uncertain, you
know, and such strange and unlooked-for things sometimes happen. Tell
me, Charlie, must we go to the ball Thursday night?”
“At the Albert Hall? I am afraid I must, darling, because I have made
up a party, as you know. Don’t you want to go? I thought you were
looking forward to it.”
“I was, but now I would rather not go. Still, if you must go, of
course, I’ll come with you. But I shall be glad when it is over. I
can’t think why, but the thought of that ball now seems somehow to
frighten me. It didn’t until we became engaged.”
But Preston soon dispelled her fancies. She was excited, he said,
unstrung. “What could happen to anybody at a ball at the Albert Hall?”
he exclaimed, laughing. He had been in hotter places in France and had
come through all right--except for that bit of shrapnel in his leg.
Yes, he agreed with her that it would be best for the news of their
engagement not to be announced until her parents had been informed.
“How do you think they will take it?” he asked. “Will they be pleased,
or not?”
“Probably not,” she answered lightly. “At least, if they are pleased,
it will be the first time they have ever approved of anything I have
done on my own initiative. And then there is the question of money.
I have a small income of my own, as you know, and lately I inherited
a comfortable little nest egg, and my stepmother naturally hopes
that in the ordinary course of events I may some day make over some
of my capital to her and to my father. Our marriage will dispel that
delusion,” and she laughed.
“You say naturally,” Preston said, “but I think it most unnatural she
should think anything of the sort.”
“Ah, you don’t know my stepmother. But let us change the subject.
Whenever I begin to think about my stepmother something unpleasant is
sure to happen. Don’t think me superstitious. I am not, as a rule, but
on that point I am extremely superstitious, because what I say has
often happened.”
As they came out into Fleet Street, a little later, they met Hopford
hurrying to his office.
“Sorry I can’t wait,” he said, “but I’ve got hold of something rather
good to-day, something which will interest you both, by the way, and I
have to write the story before seven. See you at the ball on Thursday,
I suppose?”
“You have promised to have supper with us there,” Preston said with a
laugh.
“So I have! I shouldn’t have forgotten it on Thursday night, you may be
sure. It ought to be a festive evening.”
He raised his hat and turned down Whitefriars Street, and Preston
looked about for a taxi. But there was not one to be seen which was
disengaged.
Presently he glanced at his watch.
“I have to meet a man in Bloomsbury at six o’clock,” he said, “and
it is now half-past five. Would you care to walk that far with me,
darling?”
She answered that she would “adore to,” and so it came about that, on
turning out of Russell Square, Preston pointed out a house to her on
the opposite side of the street.
“That is a house you must often have heard about,” he said. “They call
it the house with the bronze face. It is the headquarters of the famous
Metropolitan Secret Agency.”
Yootha looked across at it with interest.
“What a horrible knocker!” she exclaimed. “Isn’t the face awful? I
have heard Cora and the others speak about the place. She went there
recently, as you know, to try to find out about Jessica, and she
expects to hear soon. She described the knocker to me then. No wonder
it has given the house a curious reputation--I mean the stories that
are told about it. But they are all nonsense, I suppose?” she ended,
looking at Preston.
“Of course they must be, though the fact that Lord Froissart called
there on the morning of the day he committed suicide has probably
given the tales about the house a fresh lease of life. I can’t stand
superstitious people, can you? I am glad you are not superstitious,
dearest.”
Yootha laughed uneasily.
“It’s a gloomy, depressing-looking house, anyway,” she said, changing
the subject as she glanced back at the door. “And it has a mysterious
look. But I think a detective agency always sounds mysterious.”
“The people who run the Secret Agency must be extraordinarily clever,”
Preston said. “The number of criminals they have brought to book is
said to be very large, though the agency has not been in existence many
years. I heard a rumor some days ago that they are now hot on the scent
of the thieves who stole Mrs. Mervyn-Robertson’s jewels out of her safe
during one of her evening parties.”
“Mr. Hopford seems to be very interested in that affair,” Yootha
observed. “Now, I wonder if he had heard anything about it when we met
him in Fleet Street? He said what he was going to write would be of
interest to us both.”
They had now arrived at the house where Preston had an appointment. An
empty taxi was passing, and he hailed it.
“Then we shall meet Thursday night,” he said, when he had handed Yootha
into the taxi and shut the door. “Cora is going to call for me in her
car at ten o’clock, and we shall pick you up on our way to the ball.”