garden. Grant could see nothing on the horizon but a prospective
marriage between Sir Harry Brent and Lady Sidney Pawle, which appeared
to him eminently as one that should give satisfaction to all parties
concerned.
"Of course they won't want to be married yet awhile," he said, "but
we're expecting an engagement any day. I must say that it has all
turned out in a most extraordinarily satisfactory way. Supposing the
boy had done what his father did! He'd seen nobody here; he might very
well have got taken in by somebody who wouldn't have been the right sort
of person for him to marry when he cut himself loose. And there was
just the chance of this one girl being here when he came home. One is
inclined to think of Lady Brent managing everything, but she didn't
actually manage that. It just came about."
Wilbraham listened to all this, his own thoughts running all the time.
Sidney and Jane and Harry were in another part of the garden, out of
sight, but not out of hearing. A burst of laughter punctuated the close
of the Vicar's speech. "Wouldn't they want to get away by themselves if
it's as you think?" Wilbraham asked.
"Ah, my boy, you don't recognize the march of the great passion," said
Grant. "I've loved watching those three together, because it is all
going as I should have expected."
"Copy in it," suggested Wilbraham.
"Well, that's your way of putting it. But of course one takes in
everything that passes before one's eyes, and if it doesn't come out
exactly like it, it's----"
"Near enough to look like it. Well, I suppose you've made a study of
it, and all the old women who read your immortal works will shiver down
their spines and say, 'It was just like that with me.' But I'd rather
take Jane's opinion about it than yours."
"Would you? Well, Jane's having the time of her life. They're awfully
nice to her. Of course they're just in the state when it's gratifying
to have somebody like Jane with them, who thinks there never was anybody
like either of them. They flatter each other through her."
"Oh, that's how it's going to be worked out, is it? The old women will
love that. It's a new touch, and they'll wish they'd thought of it for
themselves, in time. Did Jane tell you it was like that, or was it your
own mighty brain?"
"You're jealous of my success, Wilbraham. But I don't mind your jibes.
I don't write for the highbrows like you, and I do touch the hearts of
thousands. Jane talks to her mother. I shouldn't expect her to talk to
me about it."
"Well, what does Mrs. Grant say? She's got some sense."
"She keeps rather quiet about it. I think she's just thankful that
Harry has somebody to keep him bright and cheerful while he's at home.
You made a mistake, you know, before, in not letting him have young
people to play with."
"He had your two."
"As it happened, yes. But they were only children. Jane is older now,
but not old enough, fortunately, to have the danger of complications.
Apart altogether from the question of a love affair with Lady Sidney, I
believe it's the best thing that could happen for him to have those two
with him while he's here. It's an awful welter of blood and horror out
there, you know, Wilbraham. None of the young fellows who come home talk
much about it, but it doesn't need much imagination to see what a
healing process it is for anybody like Harry to spend a few weeks with
people like those two girls as his chief companions, in a quiet lovely
place like this."
"Now you're talking sense yourself for a change. Here's Mrs. Brent
coming. Don't leave me alone with her. It's an awful welter of red
tape and incompetence where I've just come from, but I don't want her as
a healing process till I feel a little stronger."
But the Grants had to be going very shortly, and Mrs. Brent was not to
be denied.
Her first address to Wilbraham, however, was not on the subject of her
grievances. "Oh, I forgot to tell you when I wrote," she said. "You
know that artist--Bastian--who came down here two summers ago?"
"Yes," said Wilbraham, with his heart in his mouth.
"Well, I've found out that he married a great friend of mine--oh, years
ago, but I hadn't forgotten her. She died, poor girl, but of course the
daughter who was with Mr. Bastian here was hers. I wish I'd known. I'd
have gone to see them."
"You wouldn't have wanted to bring that time up, would you?" said
Wilbraham, scarcely knowing what to say.
She was all bristles at once. "I think I was very badly treated about
all that," she said. "I'd nothing whatever to be ashamed of in what I
came from, and all the time it was made to look as if I had. I half
believed it myself, but now I know better. Every one of my family is
doing well. They're not in the position I'm in, of course, but there's
no need to be ashamed of any of them. In fact, I've made up my mind to
introduce Harry to his relations on my side of the family. I'm going to
ask him to take me up to London before he goes back. Then he'll see for
himself."
"Do you think you're wise?" said Wilbraham, relieved at having got away
from the subject of the Bastians.
"What do you mean?" she asked. "What's the objection?"
"Well, you say they're not equal to you. They may be very good sort of
people; I dare say they are; but what's the sense of dragging them in at
this time of the day--after twenty years--to mark the difference?"
"What difference?"
"Well, the difference between them and Lady Brent."
"Lady Brent! How can you talk like that? It's just that I'm so mad
with Lady Brent that I----"
"I know it is. All you can think of is to score off her. You're not
thinking of Harry; you're not even thinking of yourself. What are you
going to get, out of going back on everything you've stood for for the
last twenty years? Harry thinks of you as belonging to Royd, in the
same sort of way as Lady Brent does. Why should he have ever thought of
you as anything different? Now you're proposing to show him the
difference. You say yourself they _are_ different. You're going to
show him the difference between Lady Brent and them. Which is likely to
come out of it best? I don't know; I'm asking you."
"Oh, you're just trying to aggravate me," she said. "You always were
like that. I don't know why I talk to you at all."
"Well, if you've finished, I think I'll go in. I want a peaceful time
as long as I'm here. You're the only person who doesn't seem to be
comfortable and happy. I'd rather be with those of them who are."
"I'm not at all happy. I'm just miserable. Harry doesn't love me any
more, and I don't know what to do about it."
They had come to the bowling alley where Wilbraham had thought out his
difficulties two summers before. She sank down on to the seat and cried.
Wilbraham felt very sorry for her, but determined to prevent her from
making mischief if he could. "Look here," he said, "I don't think it
really much matters whether you introduce Harry to your people or not.
He's grown up now, and all that idea of keeping things from him is over.
Do what you like about it. Lady Brent won't try to stop you; I'm pretty
certain of that. She has given up trying to direct his life. Why can't
you?"
Her sobs increased. "I'm his mother," she said. "I've had so little of
him. I can't give him up now."
"You had him during the whole of his childhood, more than most mothers
have their sons. Lady Brent may have been a bit jealous of you; I dare
say she was; she's got her weaknesses like all the rest of us. But she
didn't try to get him away from you. I was here most of the time, and I
could see that plainly enough. You know it too. You'll be much happier
about things if you try to be fair to her, as she's tried to be fair to
you."
"Oh, of course it's her you're thinking of all the time. I don't come in
at all."
"Yes, you do come in. I'm trying to help you to get things straight.
The fact is your nose has been put out of joint by this girl who's here.
It isn't Lady Brent at all, though you heap it all back on her. You
can't expect a boy of Harry's age to go about tied to his mother's apron
strings, when there's somebody young for him to play with. You like the
girl all right, don't you?"
She had dried her eyes and sat leaning forward in an attitude of
picturesque misery. "It doesn't seem to matter whether I like her or
not," she said. "Harry won't talk to me about her. If he told me he
was in love with her I should do my best to sympathize with him. I want
to be everything to my son."
"Of course you do; and of course you can't be. If he hasn't told you
he's in love with her, it's because he isn't. For goodness' sake let
him be happy while he's here, and in his own way. He'll be going back
soon enough, and you won't want him to think of his holiday spoiled by
your complaints. You're selfish, you know. It's yourself you're
thinking of all the time, not him. You used not to be like that."
"Oh, well," she said, rising, "I suppose I must put up with it. It's
the common lot of mothers. I shan't talk about it any more, to you or
anybody."
"That's right," said Wilbraham, as they strolled towards the house.
"And don't make complaints to Harry, either. It's not the way to get
what you want from him. Of course you know that really, as well as I
do. Only it's difficult, isn't it?"
"Oh, I don't know," she said. With the end of her emotion she seemed to
have entered a mood almost of indifference. "If I've stood what I have
all these years, and kept myself under as I have, I suppose I can go on
doing it. It's coming down here that has upset me. I've been happy
enough in London. Of course I've wanted to hear about Harry, but he's
promised me now that he'll write to me regularly. I shall be better
off, in a way, than I've ever been. I'm _somebody_ there, you see.
Here I'm nobody. I shan't stay here a moment longer than Harry does. I
hate the place now. Why have you never been to see me in London?"
"I don't know that you've ever asked me. Where do you live?"
She told him. She was sharing a flat with an old friend, a woman who
had been on the stage with her, had had an unhappy married life, but had
got on in her profession.
"Margaret Creedy?" said Wilbraham. "I've seen her act. She's very
good."
"Yes, you wouldn't have thought she began in the chorus, would you? She
never had much voice, which was perhaps just as well for her, or she'd
have been in musical comedy still. She doesn't like it remembered, and
of course I don't want it known either; but we often talk over old
times. It was from her, by the by, that I heard about Mrs. Bastian.
She married a gentleman, like I did; but he'd come down in the world.
Bastian isn't his real name, you know.".
"What is his real name?"
"I don't know. I meant to find out about him, and go and see what the
girl is like. You never told me much about her, but if she's like her
mother she ought to be very pretty."
"She is very pretty, but----"
"Oh, you mean I ought not to let them know who I was, as they've been
here. Perhaps I shan't. I don't want to give _her_ any handles against
me."
"By _her_ I suppose you mean Lady Brent. Everything comes back to her.
You'll think better of all that some day. I wish you'd think better of
it now. Royd would be a less prickly house to live in."
"Oh, I shall behave myself, never you fear," she said as she left him.
He thought it probable that she would. He had made an impression on
her, though she was not of the sort that would acknowledge it. She was
evidently making her own life, and even if she had dropped all pretence
of war work, for which she had gone to London, it was not a life that
would let the name of Brent down, as he had rather feared. Margaret
Creedy was an actress of some distinction, and would be very careful not
to jeopardize the social position she had won for herself. And Mrs.
Brent, for all her independent talk, was guided by a sense of her own
importance in the world. Probably the joint establishment was as rigidly
respectable as any in London.
As for possible complications with the Bastians, Wilbraham could do
nothing. If the revelation came in that way, it must come, and for
himself he didn't care when it came. He was tired of all the secrecy,
and thought too that Harry was wrong in keeping his secret; or, at any
rate, right or wrong in being unwilling to disclose it himself, that it
would be better for him if it were known.
He was inclined to dread the talk that he saw coming with Lady Brent.
He badly wanted a recreative rest himself, and hated the idea of
exercising his brain in steering clear of admissions to her, hated also
the idea of deceiving her by doing so, when all the time he was in
sympathy with her in her doubts and disappointments. What was done was
done. Harry was what he was, and if she had made any mistake in his
upbringing, which he did not admit, it would do no good now to dwell on
it with regret. Harry was working it all out for himself, and as far as
Wilbraham could see, was not making such a bad job of it. He would tell
her that, when she began to discuss him, and cut the conversation as
short as he conveniently could. Then he would be free to enjoy himself,
in the company of the people he liked best in the world, and in the
place which seemed to him, coming back to it, a haven of peace and
beauty.
But apparently that was all that Lady Brent wanted of him. She told him
that Harry seemed much more his old self now that he had been home a
week or more, and that she was glad that there was young companionship
for him, and beyond that she did not discuss him at all.
So Wilbraham enjoyed his two days at Royd, and went back to his work
greatly refreshed, and with most of his doubts about Harry set at rest.
He might be longing for Viola all the time, as he had said he was, but
he managed to hide it effectually and seemed to be enjoying his holiday
as much as anybody.
*CHAPTER XXV*
*MRS. BRENT KNOWS*
Royd Castle was empty, except for the servants, for the first time for
twenty years. Everybody had gone away, including Lady Brent, who,
however, was not very far off, for she was only visiting Lady Avalon for
a few days at Poldaven.
To the Grants, left to themselves, after the unusual amount of society
they had lately enjoyed, there was a sense of emptiness, though their
own summer life was in full swing, and the Vicar had a bright new idea
for a novel, which was keeping his thoughts happily employed. There were
to be a young man and two girls, and nobody was to know which of the
girls the young man was really in love with until the last chapter.
"Of course I got the idea from those three," he told his wife, "although
it couldn't be exactly like them. Harry and Sidney might be, but the
second girl would have to be older than Jane, but still rather young.
She would be a sort of confidante of the other two, who would be
inclined to fall in love with one another. Then she would gradually
find that she was in love with the young man herself. I should make it
rather pathetic, but not overdo it, of course. She would keep her
feelings to herself, out of loyalty to her friend. I haven't quite
worked it out yet, but the reality would come in a flash. The young man
would find that it was she he was in love with. I shouldn't be able to
leave the other girl in the air. There might be somebody else for her.
It will come all right, now my brain has begun to work on it. I should
have to make her very charming, so that it would seem as if the man
_must_ be in love with her."
"You mustn't make it too like Harry and Sidney," said Mrs. Grant.
"Oh, I should be careful about that, though their way with each other
has been very attractive to watch. They're so frank, and so completely
friendly--a very delightful pair of young people I call them. It would
be much more effective to have young lovers behaving like that to one
another than the usual sort of love affair that one meets with in
fiction. The odd thing about it, though, is that they have parted now
and nothing has come of it all."
Mrs. Grant laughed. "Perhaps it's because they weren't lovers after
all," she said, "and were so frank and friendly with each other because
they weren't. You must be careful about that, David."
But he would not admit that Harry and Sidney weren't in love with one
another. It was clear for everybody to see. Of course Harry was rather
an exceptional young man. That was plain from the way he had come back
to Royd as if he were master there already. There was tremendous
strength of character in him, and even Lady Brent recognized it, and did
not seek to direct him in any way. It was very likely that he had made
up his mind that it would not be right to engage himself to Sidney until
the war was over. But it was also likely that they had an understanding
between themselves. It could hardly be otherwise.
"He has certainly altered," said Mrs. Grant. "He goes his own way as
one would hardly have expected of him in some respects. I don't know
why he should have wanted to be with Mr. Wilbraham for a week before he
went to France. Poor Mrs. Brent was rather sad about it, especially
when he wrote to say that he was not coming down again."
"And now she's gone posting up to London to get hold of him. I've no
patience with Mrs. Brent. She has greatly deteriorated. Well, I must
be getting on with my work. I shall very soon be ready to make a start
on the first chapter."
Jane had been very subdued in demeanour since Sidney and Harry had both
departed, and frequently sought her mother's company. She came to her
this morning, when her lessons were done, and sat with her in the garden
as she worked.
"Did father say that there was going to be a great attack on the Germans
soon?" she asked, after a little desultory conversation.
"It has been expected for some time. I suppose it can't be long before
it comes now."
"I suppose that's why Harry's leave has been cut short. Will there be a
great many of our people killed, mother?"
"I'm afraid so, dear."
"Harry might be," said Jane. "He's very brave."
"You mustn't let yourself dwell on that, darling. He has been spared so
far."
"Did you know he had been wounded?"
Mrs. Grant looked at her in surprise. "Not seriously," she said.
"Sidney and I both think he was, though he wouldn't tell us, and said we
weren't to talk about it. Have you noticed he always keeps his sleeve
buttoned when he's playing tennis?"
Mrs. Grant hadn't noticed particularly, but said that she remembered now
that he did.
"Well, he's got an awful great scar in his arm. We saw it once by
accident. A Turk did it with a bayonet. When we found out, he did tell
us a little, and about the time he was in hospital. He told us about an
orderly who had been frightfully good to him, and said he saved his life
when he was very ill, by nursing him all the time. He liked to talk
about him; his name was Tom Weller. Sidney thought he couldn't have been
so ill just from a wound in the arm, and then he said he'd had a little
shell wound in the body, but he wouldn't tell us any more. We think it
must have been a serious one. We found out afterwards that he didn't go
to hospital for his bayonet wound at all."
Mrs. Grant was conscious of a feeling of surprise and some discomfort.
She knew that Harry was not likely to fail in any of a young man's
courageous work, and yet she had thought of him as having got off
lightly, except in the hardships of a trooper's life. And that he had
never mentioned even the actions in which he had been wounded seemed so
to accentuate the division that he had made between himself and those
who loved him. He might have died and they would have known nothing.
Apparently he had been very near to death. She wondered whether Jane
had any theory to account for his unusual reticence about himself.
"I'm very glad Lady Brent will hear about him now," she said. "It's
dreadful to think what might have happened when they couldn't have got
to him."
"Well, they couldn't, anyhow, when he was in Egypt. He says it was much
better that they shouldn't have been anxious about him, and as it turned
out there was no need to have been anxious. I must say I'm rather glad
we didn't know, though it's horrid to think of our enjoying ourselves at
home when Harry was nearly dying. Sidney and I both told him that we
wanted to know everything about him now, and he promised to."
"To write to you?"
"Yes; or to let us have a message. You see we're real friends, mother
dear. We've had a lovely time together and enjoyed ourselves
frightfully; but it hasn't been quite all enjoying ourselves. Sidney
and I both know that Harry dreads things. I don't mean being wounded,
or anything like that. But everything is so different for him. What we
both got to know was that he wanted it to be like it used to be here as
much as ever it could be. That's why he won't talk about the war. We
could make him forget it; so we were sometimes more lively than we
really felt. I'm sure I don't feel at all lively now."
Her mother stole a glance at her, as she sat with a calm face looking
out in front of her.
"Well, darling," she said, "you'll have Harry home on leave again. I'm
sure both you and Sidney have done a lot for him since he's been home
this time. There was a sort of strain on him at first which wasn't
there afterwards."
"Did you notice that? I'm very glad. Of course Sidney did more than I
did. She was with him more, and she's older. But they were both very
sweet to me. I think I did help. I love them both. I love Sidney. I
wish----"
She broke off abruptly. "I think I can guess what Sidney's secret is,"
said her mother, after a pause. "I think she meant me to, you know,
when she told you you could tell me that there was a secret."
Jane looked at her eagerly. "I don't suppose she really meant me not to
tell you," she said.
"If I've found it out for myself, she wouldn't mind you talking about
it. I shouldn't mention it to anybody else. I thought, when you told
me, that perhaps she was in love with somebody, and that was why you and
she and Harry could all be friends together so happily."
Jane breathed a sigh of relief. "Yes, that's it exactly," she said.
"How clever you are, mother! I'm glad you knew. His name is Noel
Chancellor. I've seen his photograph. He is very good-looking, but of
course not so good-looking as Harry. I can't help thinking that if
she'd never seen him she would be in love with Harry."
"Perhaps. But it doesn't always come like that. And he's not in love
with her, you see, though there's nobody else, for him."
"No, he isn't." Jane spoke very decisively. "She's such a dear that I
did think once that he might have been a little, although he knew about
Noel, without being able to help it. But he's not the least little bit.
I don't know how I know that, but I do."
"I suppose you know that they think he is, at the Castle."
"Oh, yes. And Lady Avalon will be annoyed when she finds out. But we
can't help that."
Mrs. Grant smiled. She loved that "we" that came into Jane's speech.
"What about Lady Brent?" she said. "You were such friends with Lady
Brent before Harry came home."
"I am still. Of course she wouldn't say anything to me about that. I'm
not quite sure that she does expect it. At any rate, I know she was
glad for me to be with them. She knew all right that we were helping
Harry. Lady Brent sees a lot, though she doesn't talk much."
Mrs. Grant found food for thought in this, and shared it later with Miss
Minster. Neither of them had ever been able to make up their minds
finally about Lady Brent.
"Supposing she doesn't really expect anything to come of it!" she said.
"I'm inclined to trust Jane when she thinks that she doesn't."
"I've liked her much better since she took Jane into her confidence,"
said Miss Minster. "I'm sorry for her now. I think she lays her plans
deeply and then has to sit and do nothing while she sees them fail. But
it needs a lot of self-restraint to sit and do nothing. Yes, I'm sorry
for her."
"You think Jane is right then?"
"I don't know. Lady Brent would look farther than most people. She
wouldn't need to look much farther than I do in this. What I think is
that Harry isn't ready for it yet, and won't be till the war is over.
When that oppression is removed from him I think he's quite likely to
fall in love with Lady Sidney. That's what I think, and I shouldn't
wonder if Lady Brent thought the same. Then it wouldn't make her quite
so superhuman as she appears. She'd just be waiting."
This view could not be combated without disclosures. As far as it
affected Lady Brent it seemed to be the best explanation of her
attitude. "Anyhow she's a wonderful woman," said Mrs. Grant, "and I
also like her better than I did, although I never disliked her."
"The person I don't like so well," said Miss Minster, "is Mrs. Brent. I
hope we've seen the last of her here for the present."