A MAN'S CONFIDENCE
"Aren't you going to kiss Aunt Avery under the mistletoe?" asked Gracie.
"No," said Piers. "Aunt Avery may kiss me if she likes." He looked at
Avery with his sudden, boyish laugh. "But I know she doesn't like, so
that's an end of the matter."
"How do you know?" persisted Gracie. "She's very fond of kissing. And
anyone may kiss under the mistletoe."
"That quite does away with the charm of it in my opinion," declared
Piers. "I don't appreciate things when you can get 'em cheap."
He moved over to Jeanie's sofa and sat down on the edge. Her soft eyes
smiled a welcome, the little thin hand slipped into his.
"I've been wishing for you all day long," she said.
He leaned towards her. "Have you, my fairy queen? Well, I'm here at
last."
Avery, from the head of the schoolroom table, looked across at them with
a feeling of fulness at her heart. She never liked Piers so well as when
she saw him in company with her little favourite. His gentleness and
chivalry made of him a very perfect knight.
"Yes," said Jeanie, giving his hand a little squeeze. "We're going to
have our Christmas Tree to-night, and Dr. Tudor is coming. You don't like
him, I know. But he's really quite a nice man."
She spoke the last words pleadingly, in response to a slight frown
between Piers' brows.
"Oh, is he?" said Piers, without enthusiasm.
"He's been very kind," said Jeanie in a tone of apology.
"He'd better be anything else--to you!" said Piers, with a smile that was
somewhat grim.
Jeanie's fingers caressed his again propitiatingly. "Do let's all be nice
to each other just for to-night!" she said.
Piers' smile became tender again. "As your gracious majesty decrees!" he
said. "Where is the ceremony to be held?"
"Up in the nursery. We've had the little ones in here all day, while
Mother and Nurse have been getting it ready. I haven't seen it yet."
"Can't we creep up when no one's looking and have a private view?"
suggested Piers.
Jeanie beamed at the idea. "I would like to, for I've been in the secret
from the very beginning. But you must finish your tea first. We'll go
when the crackers begin."
As the pulling of crackers was the signal for every child at the table to
make as much noise as possible, it was not difficult to effect their
retreat without exciting general attention. Avery alone noted their
departure and smiled at Jeanie's flushed face as the child nodded
farewell to her over Piers' shoulder.
"You do carry me so beautifully," Jeanie confided to him as he mounted
the stairs to the top of the house. "I love the feel of your arms. They
are so strong and kind. You're sure I'm not too heavy?"
"I could carry a dozen of you," said Piers.
They found the nursery brilliantly lighted and lavishly adorned with
festoons of coloured paper.
"Aunt Avery and I did most of that," said Jeanie proudly.
Piers bore her round the room, admiring every detail, finally depositing
her in a big arm-chair close to the tall screen that hid the Christmas
Tree. Jeanie's leg was mending rapidly, and gave her little trouble now.
She lay back contentedly, with shining eyes upon her cavalier.
"It was very nice of you to be so kind to Gracie last night," she said.
"She told me all about it to-day. Of course she ought not to have done
it. I hope--I hope Sir Beverley wasn't angry about it."
Piers laughed a little. "Oh no! He got over it. Was Gracie scared?"
"Not really. She said she thought he wasn't quite pleased with you. I do
hope he didn't think it was your fault."
"My shoulders are fairly broad," said Piers.
"Yes, but it wouldn't be right," maintained Jeanie. "I think I ought to
write to him and explain."
"No, no!" said Piers. "You leave the old chap alone. He
understands--quite as much as he wants to understand."
There was a note of bitterness in his voice which Jeanie was quick to
discern. She reached up a sympathetic hand to his. "Dear Sir Galahad!"
she said softly.
Piers looked down at her for a few moments in silence. And then, very
suddenly, moved by the utter devotion that looked back at him from her
eyes, he went down on his knees beside her and held her to his heart.
"It's a beast of a world, Jeanie," he said.
"Is it?" whispered Jeanie, with his hand pressed tight against her cheek.
There was silence between them for a little space; then she lifted her
face to his, to murmur in a motherly tone, "I expect you're tired."
"Tired!" said Piers with gloomy vehemence. "Yes, I am tired--sick to
death of everything. I'm like a dog on a chain. I can see what I want,
but it's always just out of my reach."
Jeanie's hand came up and softly stroked his face. "I wish I could get
it for you," she said.
"Bless you, sweetheart!" said Piers. "You don't so much as know what it
is, do you?"
"Yes, I do," said Jeanie. She leaned her head back against his shoulder,
looking up into his face with all her child's soul shining in her eyes.
"It's--Aunt Avery; isn't it?"
"How did you know?" said Piers.
"I don't know," said Jeanie. "It just--came to me--that day in the
schoolroom when you talked about the ticket of leave. You were unhappy
that day, weren't you?"
"Yes," said Piers. He added after a moment, "You see, I'm not good
enough for her."
"Not good enough!" Jeanie's face became incredulous and a little
distressed. "I'm sure--she--doesn't think that," she said.
"She doesn't know me properly," said Piers. "Nor do you. If you did,
you'd be shocked,--you'd be horrified."
He spoke recklessly, almost defiantly; but Jeanie only stretched up a
thin arm and wound it about his neck. "Never!" she told him softly.
"No, never!"
He held her to him; but he would not be silenced. "I assure you, I'm no
saint," he said. "I feel more like a devil sometimes. I've done bad
things, Jeanie, I can't tell you how bad. It would only hurt you."
The words ran out impulsively. His breathing came quick and short; his
hold was tense. In that moment the child's pure spirit recognized that
the image had crumbled in her shrine, but the brave heart of her did
not flinch. Very tenderly she veiled the ruin. The element of worship
had vanished in that single instant of revelation; but her love
remained, and it shone out to him like a beacon as he knelt there in
abasement by her side.
"But you're sorry," she whispered. "You would undo the bad things if
you could."
"God knows I would!" he said.
"Perhaps He will undo them for you," she murmured softly. "Have you
asked Him?"
"There are some things that can't be undone," groaned Piers. "It would be
too big a job even for Him."
"Nothing is that," said Jeanie with conviction. "If we are sorry and if
we pray, some day He will undo all the bad we've ever done."
"I haven't prayed for six years," said Piers. "Things went wrong with me.
I felt as if I were under a curse. And I gave it up."
"Oh, Piers!" she said, holding him closer. "How miserable you must
have been!"
"I've been in hell!" he said with bitter vehemence. "And the gates tight
shut! Not that I was ever very great in the spiritual lines," he added
more calmly. "But I used to think God took a friendly interest in my
affairs till--till I went down into hell and the gates shut on me; and
then--" he spoke grimly--"I knew He didn't care a rap."
"But, dear, He does care!" said Jeanie very earnestly.
"He doesn't!" said Piers moodily. "He can't!"
"Piers, He does!" She raised her head and looked him straight in the
eyes. "Everyone feels like that sometimes," she said. "But Aunt Avery
says it's only because we are too little to understand. Won't you begin
and pray again? It does make a difference even though we can't see it."
"I can't," said Piers. And then with swift compunction he kissed her
face of disappointment. "Never mind, my queen! Don't you bother your
little head about me! I shall rub along all right even if I don't come
out on top."
"But I want you to be happy," said Jeanie. "I wish I could help you,
Piers,--dear Piers."
"You do help me," said Piers.
There came the sound of voices on the stairs, and he got up.
Jeanie looked up at him wistfully. "I shall try," she said. "I shall
try--hard."
He patted her head and turned away.
Mr. Lorimer and Miss Whalley entered the room. The former raised his
brows momentarily at the sight of Piers, but he greeted him with much
geniality.
"I am quite delighted to welcome you to the children's Christmas party,"
he declared, with Piers' hand held impressively in his. "And how is your
grandfather, my dear lad?"
Piers contracted instinctively. "He is quite well, thanks," he said. "I
haven't come to stay. I only looked in for a moment."
He glanced towards Miss Whalley whom he had never met before. The Vicar
smilingly introduced him. "This is the Squire's grandson and heir, Miss
Whalley. Doubtless you know him by sight as well as by repute--the
keenest sportsman in the county, eh, my young friend?" His eyes
disappeared with the words as if pulled inwards by a string.
"I don't know," said Piers, becoming extremely blunt and British. "I'm
certainly keen, but so are dozens of others." He bowed to Miss Whalley
with stiff courtesy. "Pleased to meet you," he said formally.
Miss Whalley acknowledged the compliment with a severe air of
incredulity. She had never approved of Piers since a certain Sunday
morning ten years before when she had caught him shooting at the
choir-boys with a catapult, during the litany, over the top of the
squire's large square pew.
She had reported the crime to the Vicar, and the Vicar had lodged a
formal complaint with Sir Beverley, who had soundly caned the delinquent
in his presence, and given him half a sovereign as soon as the clerical
back had been turned for taking the punishment like a man.
But in Miss Whalley's eyes Piers had from that moment ceased to be
regarded as one of the elect, and his curt reception of the good Vicar's
patronage did not further elevate him in her esteem. She made as brief a
response to the introduction as politeness demanded, and crossed the room
to Jeanie.
"I must be off," said Piers. "I've stayed longer than I intended
already."
"Pray do not hurry!" urged Mr. Lorimer. "The festivities are but just
beginning."
But Piers was insistent, and even Jeanie's wistful eyes could not detain
him. He waved her a careless farewell, and extricated himself as quickly
as possible from surroundings that had become uncongenial.
Descending the stairs somewhat precipitately, he nearly ran into Avery
ascending with a troop of children, and stopped to say good-bye.
"You're not going!" cried Gracie, with keen disappointment.
"Yes, I am. I can't stop. It's later than I thought. See you to-morrow!"
said Piers.
He held Avery's hand again in his, and for one fleeting second his eyes
looked into hers. Then lightly he pressed her fingers and passed on
without further words.
On the first landing he encountered Mrs. Lorimer. She smiled upon him
kindly. "Oh, Piers, is it you?" she said. "Have you been having tea in
the schoolroom?"
He admitted that he had.
"And must you really go?" she said. "I'm sorry for that. Come again,
won't you?"
Her tone was full of gentle friendliness, and Piers was touched. "It's
awfully good of you to ask me," he said.
"I like to see you here," she answered simply. "And I am so grateful to
you for your kindness to my little Jeanie."
"Oh, please don't!" said Piers. "I assure you it's quite the other way
round. I shall certainly come again since you are good enough to ask me."
He smiled with boyish gallantry into the wistful, faded face, carried her
fingers lightly to his lips, and passed on.
"Such a nice boy!" Mrs. Lorimer murmured to herself as she went up to
the nursery.
"Poor little soul!" was Piers' inward comment as he ran down to the hall.
Here he paused, finding himself face to face with Lennox Tudor who was
taking off his coat preparatory to ascending.
The doctor nodded to him without cordiality. Neither of them ever
pretended to take any pleasure in the other's society.
"Are you just going?" he asked. "Your grandfather is wanting you."
"Who says so?" said Piers aggressively.
"I say so." Curtly Tudor made answer, meeting Piers' quick frown with one
equally decided.
Piers stood still in front of him. "Have you just come from the Abbey?"
he demanded.
"I have." Tudor's tone was non-committal. He stood facing Piers,
waiting to pass.
"What are you always going there for?" burst forth Piers, with heat. "He
doesn't want you--never follows your advice, and does excellently well
without it."
"Really!" said Tudor. He uttered a short, sarcastic laugh, albeit his
thick brows met closely above his glasses. "Well, you ought to
know--being such a devoted and attentive grandson."
Piers' hands clenched at the words. He looked suddenly dangerous. "What
in thunder do you mean?" he demanded.
Tudor was nothing loth to enlighten him. He was plainly angry himself.
"I mean," he said, "if you must have it, that the time you spend
philandering here would be better employed in looking after the old man,
who has spent a good deal over you and gets precious little interest out
of the investment."
"Confound you!" exclaimed Piers violently. "Who the devil are you to talk
to me like this? Do you think I'm going to put up with it, what? If so,
you're damned well mistaken. You leave me alone--and my grandfather too;
do you hear? If you don't--" He broke off, breathing short and hard.
But Tudor remained unimpressed. He looked at Piers as one might
look at an animal raging behind bars. "Well?" he said. "Pray
finish! If I don't--"
Piers' face was very pale. His eyes blazed out of it, red and
threatening. "If you don't--I'll murder you!" he said.
And at that he stopped short and suddenly wheeled round as he caught the
swish of a dress on the stairs. He looked up into Avery's face as she
came swiftly down, and the blood rose in a deep, dark wave to his
forehead. He made no attempt to cover or excuse his passionate outburst,
which it was perfectly obvious she must have heard. He merely made way
for her, his hands still hard clenched, his eyes immovably upon her.
Avery passed him with scarcely a glance, but her voice as she addressed
Lennox Tudor sounded a trifle austere. "I heard you speaking," she said,
"and ran down to fetch you upstairs. Will you come up at once, please?
The ceremony is just beginning."
Tudor held out a steady hand, "Very kind of you, Mrs. Denys," he said.
"Will you lead the way?" And then for a moment he turned from her to
Piers. "If you have anything further to say to me, Evesham, I shall be
quite ready to give you a hearing on a more suitable occasion."
"I have nothing further to say," said Piers, still with his eyes
upon Avery.
She would not look at him. With deliberate intention, she ignored his
look. "Come, doctor!" she said.
They mounted the stairs together, Piers still standing motionless, still
mutely watching. There was no temper nor anger in his face. Simply he
stood and waited. And, as if that silent gaze drew her, even against her
will, suddenly at the top she turned. Her own sweet smile flashed into
her face. She threw a friendly glance down to him.
"Good-night, Mr. Evesham!" she called softly. "A happy Christmas to you!"
And as if that were what he had been waiting for, Piers bowed very low in
answer and at once turned away.
His face as he went out into the night wore a very curious expression. It
was not grim, nor ashamed, nor triumphant, and yet there was in it a
suggestion of all three moods.
He reached his car, standing as he had left it in the deserted lane, and
stooped to start the engine. Then, as it throbbed in answer, he
straightened himself, and very suddenly he laughed. But it was not a
happy laugh; and in a moment more he shot away into the dark as though
pursued by fiends. If he had gained his end, if he had in any fashion
achieved his desire, it was plain that it did not give him any great
satisfaction. He went like a fury through the night.