"A CALMOUR AT HILVERSEA."
Wagram's private study, or "den," where he was wont to do all his
business thinking and writing, and which was absolutely sacred to
himself and his papers and general litter, was a snug room overlooking
the drive; and thence, as he sat with his after-breakfast pipe in his
mouth and some business papers relating to the estate before him on the
morning following the incidents just recorded, he was--well, not
altogether surprised at seeing a girl on a bicycle skimming up to the
front door.
"Poor child!" he said to himself. "She looks positively radiant. I
used to think, in those awful days, if I were in the position I am in
now--by the grace of God--what a great deal I could do for others, and
yet, and yet, it's little enough one seems to be able to do."
He need not have disparaged himself. There were not a few, among them
some who had shown him kindness in "those awful days," who now had
reason to bless his name as long as they lived, and their children's
children after them.
"Come in. Yes; I'll be down in a minute or two," he said in response to
the announcement that Miss Calmour had called on a matter of business,
and very much wished to see him. He smiled to himself as he remembered
the occasion of her last call--also "on a matter of business." Then he
made a note as to where to resume the work in which he had been
interrupted, laid down his pipe, and went downstairs.
"And now," he said merrily when they had shaken hands, "what is this
`matter of business'?"
Delia was looking radiant, and, consequently, very pretty. She had that
dark warmth of complexion which suffuses, and her hazel eyes were soft
and velvety.
"This will explain," she said, holding out the editor's letter; "and, Mr
Wagram, it would be affectation for me to pretend that I did not know
whom I had to thank for it."
"Of course. As far as I can see it is the editor of _The Old Country
Side_. But editors don't want thanking; they are hard, cold-blooded men
of business, as I have had ample reason to discover in my old struggling
days."
She made no comment on this last remark. She had heard that this man's
life had not been always a bed of roses.
"Yet, how could this one have heard of me?" she said. "No; I don't know
how to thank you enough for this--and Clytie too. She has almost more
work than she can do, all thanks to your introductions. You are too
good to us."
"My dear child, haven't you learnt yet that we must all help each other
in this world as far as lies in our power? The difficulty sometimes
lies in how to do it in the right way. By-the-by, this letter, I
observe, makes it a condition that you should obtain my father's
permission. How, then, could we possibly have had anything to do with
instigating the offer?"
Delia smiled, remembering her sister's dictum: "That's only a red
herring." However, she had sufficient tact not to press the point.
"I see they want six photographic views," he went on. "Now, if I might
suggest, do two of the house, from different points of view--outside;
one of the hall and staircase; two of the chapel, outside and in; and
one of the lake. That makes it."
"But, Mr Wagram, you are forgetting the African animals. I must have
those; they are such a feature."
"Why, of course. Well, then, now I think of it, we will delete the
interior of the chapel. To the crowd it would only look like any other
interior. What is your camera, by the way?"
"Only a Kodak. Bull's-eye Number 2. But I understand time exposures,
and it takes very sharp and clear."
"And shorthand writing too. You are a clever girl, and should be able
to turn your accomplishments to useful account."
Again Delia smiled, for she remembered having let out that she was a
ready shorthand writer during that former conversation.
"Well, now, what I suggest is this: I have rather a pressing matter of
business to finish off this morning, so, if you will excuse me, I
propose to turn you over to Rundle. He will show you every hole and
corner of the house; he knows it like a book. We only looked at it
cursorily last time you were here. That will take you all the morning.
After lunch--we lunch at one--I can take you over the outside part of
the job myself. _The Old Country Side_ is a first-rate pictorial, and
we must do justice to Hilversea in it, mustn't we?"
Delia professed herself delighted, as indeed she was. Then Rundle,
having appeared in response to a ring, Wagram proceeded to direct him
accordingly.
"Show Miss Calmour all there is to see, Rundle," he said, "and work the
light for her so as to get everything from the best point of view for
photography. I showed her the priest's hiding-place the other day, so
you needn't; besides, you don't know the secret of it."
"No, sir; and it'd have been a good job if some others hadn't known
there was such a thing," said the old butler in historic allusion.
"This way, miss."
Delia appeared at lunch radiant and sparkling. Rundle had proved a most
efficient cicerone, she declared; indeed, so much had there been to see
and hear that she wondered how on earth she was going to compress her
notes into the required limit. Wagram was in a state of covert
amusement, for he knew that his father was not forgetting his former
dictum.
"A Calmour at Hilversea! Pho! it'd be about as much in place as a cow
in a church!"
And yet, here was this bright, pretty girl, who talked so intelligently
and well--why, she might have been anybody else as far as keeping the
old Squire interested and amused was concerned.
"Now, Miss Calmour, which shall we take first--the animals or the
chapel?" said Wagram as they rose from table.
"The animals, I think, because it may take some time, and the sun is not
as reliable as it might be. The chapel I can get much easier with a
time exposure, if necessary."
"Right. I'll tell them to get my tyres pumped up, and we can bike down
there."
Their way took them over the very road where the adventure had befallen,
then a turn to the left, where the riding was rough. Here, under the
trees, a shed of tarred planks came into view.
"We'll leave our machines here," said Wagram, dismounting. "They'll be
quite safe; still, I'll chain them together, as a matter of precaution."
"What a perfectly lovely place this is," said the girl as they walked on
beneath great over-arching oaks, which let in the sunlight in a network
on the cool sward. "Tell me, Mr Wagram, don't you sometimes find life
too good to be real?"
He looked at her a trifle gravely. There was something very taking in
her genuineness and spontaneity. In the present instance she had voiced
what was often in his mind.
"Yes, indeed I do," he said; "so much so that at times it is almost
startling."
It did not occur to him how he was giving vent to some of the most
solemn side of his meditations for the benefit of this girl--this
daughter of the drunken, disreputable, old ex-army vet, any other member
of whose family he would not willingly have had there at all. But had
he known her better--that is, had he known her before that eventful
day--he would have reason to marvel at the great and wondrous change
that had come over her within that short space of time. Her former
slanginess, and other amenities and ideas begotten of Siege House, were
to her now quite of the past, so effective had been recent influences to
refine and soften her.
"Look there, we are in luck's way so far," he said. "Have you got an
exposure ready?"
They had reached a high paling with the upper part bent over inward. In
front was a step-ladder giving access to a small wooden platform at the
top of this.
"Don't show too suddenly," he whispered as he helped her up this;
"you've a fine chance."
Delia could hardly restrain a cry of delight. About twenty yards away a
couple of white-tailed gnus were feeding, and just beyond three more of
the larger and brindled kind, and a little apart from these a fine
specimen of the sable antelope. It was as if some fortunate freak of
Nature had grouped and focussed the lot for her own especial benefit.
"Got 'em," she whispered, clicking the trigger.
Up went every head. The white-tailed gnus, their wild eyes staring out
of fierce-looking, whiskered countenances surmounted by sharp
meat-hook-like horns, began to snort and prance round and round. Those
of the other kind drew nearer, uttering a raucous bellow.
"Now, snap them again," whispered Wagram; "you'll never get a better
chance."
"There; that'll be perfect. Are there any more, Mr Wagram?"
"None worth taking. Some of the smaller kinds of antelope; but we hope
to get some more specimens. Haldane got these for us. He's been an
up-country sportsman in his time, and shot lots of them."
"How picturesque they look; but they are very ugly."
"Not the sable antelope?"
"Oh no; the others. They look as if Nature had started to make a goat,
then changed her mind, and manufactured a bad attempt at a buffalo, with
a dash of the camel thrown in."
"Good description," laughed Wagram. The creatures, excited by the
sound, snorted and bellowed, pawing the ground or capering in absurd
antics, while two had got up a sham fight on their own account.
"Supposing we were to go down into the enclosure?" she said.
"Hadn't you a specimen of what that would mean the other day? We have
notices posted everywhere warning people against venturing in; but this
part of the park is right away from any public road, and we don't
encourage trippers. Hallo!"--looking up--"it's lucky you got your
snapshots. It has started to rain."
Big drops were pattering down. The sky had become quickly overcast, and
an ominous boom from a black, inky background of cloud told that a
summer shower was upon them with characteristic suddenness. They
regained the shed where they had left their bicycles only in the nick of
time, as, with a roar and a rush, the rain whirled upon them in a
tremendous downpour. Then the vivid sheeting of blue electricity,
almost simultaneously with the sharp thunder-crack. The girl gave a
little start.
"Are you afraid of thunder?" asked Wagram, with a smile.
"Not now. Sometimes when I am alone I get rather nervous, but now I
don't mind it a bit."
She spoke no more than the truth. She would have welcomed another hour
of the most appalling thunderstorm that ever raged to sit here as she
was doing now, and spend it in this man's society. Yet a wooden shed,
open in front, and overhung by tall, spreading oaks, is not perhaps, the
safest refuge in the world under all the circumstances. But the thunder
and lightning soon passed over, although it continued to rain smartly.
"Mr Wagram, there is something I would like to talk to you about," began
the girl, rather constrainedly, after a quite unwonted interval of
silence--for her. "I have been thinking of late that I would like to be
a Catholic."
Wagram looked up keenly.
"Have you given the question careful study?" he said.
"I have thought it over a great deal. I am fairly at home in the
Catholic services. You see, I was travelling on the Continent as
companion for a time, and then we always attended them, so I do know
something about it."
"To know `something' isn't sufficient; you must know everything."
"Tell me, then. What should I do?"
"First, be sure that you are thoroughly in earnest; then you must
undergo instruction."
Delia's face brightened.
"I will," she said. "But--tell me how."
"There is a mission in Bassingham. Go and consult the priest there."
Delia tried all she knew to keep her face from falling. She had hoped,
in her ignorance, that Wagram would have accepted the post of
instructor.
"Father Sonnenbloem!" she said. "But, he's a German."
"Well, what then? My dear child, the Catholic Church is the Church of
the World, and is above nationality in that it embraces all nations--
hence its name. As it happens, Father Sonnenbloem is one of the most
kind-hearted and saintly men who ever lived. He is learned, too. If
you are in earnest you could go to no one better."
Delia declared that she would; and, the rain having ceased, they went
forth just as a bright shaft of sunlight, darting through the cloud,
which it was fast dispelling, converted the rain drippings from the
leaves into a shower of glittering diamonds, and the moist, ferny,
woodland scents after the shower were delicious.
"We shall have a splashy ride back, I'm afraid," said Wagram as they
regained the road. "No; it has run off rather than soaked in. It won't
hurt us; and you'll have the sun for your remaining shots."
After she had taken the chapel and the Priest's Walk--she must take
that, she said--Delia asked, somewhat diffidently, if she could see the
ornaments.
"Certainly," answered Wagram; "only we must get hold of Father Gayle for
that, because he has got the keys of all the best things."
The chaplain was at home, and soon found.
"Been taking our private Zoo, I hear, Miss Calmour," he said genially as
he joined them. "Your second sight of it is not quite so startling as
your first, eh?"
In the sacristy--for they did not do things by halves at Hilversea--
Delia was lost in wonder and delight at the beauty of the vestments and
ornaments, rich and exquisite in texture and design, and she almost had
to shade her eyes to look at the great sun-shaped monstrance, blazing
with precious stones; but what interested her no less, perhaps, was a
splendid old chasuble of Flemish make, rich and full, and displaying a
perfect chronicle of symbolism in every detail of its embroidery, which
Wagram pronounced to have been almost certainly worn by their martyred
relative.
"From that to my boy's things is something of a skip," he went on, half
opening a drawer, in which lay an acolyte's dress of scarlet and lace;
"only the rascal isn't over-keen on getting inside them when he's here--
eh, Father? Says he has enough of that sort of thing to do at school."
"Oh, well, we mustn't expect a boy to be too pious," laughed the priest.
"I know I was anything but that at his age."
Delia was interested. It was the first time she had heard Wagram refer
to his son, and she was about to question him on the subject when the
sound of a door opening, and of voices inside the chapel, caught their
attention.
"It's Haldane and Yvonne," pronounced Wagram. "Perhaps they've come to
have a practice."
His conjecture proved correct, as in a minute or two the new arrivals
joined them in the sacristy. They wanted to try over a few things, they
said, and now the organist was nowhere to be found. Wagram couldn't
play and sing at the same time, and the same held good of Yvonne, while
Haldane couldn't play at all. What on earth was to be done?
"Could I be of any use, Mr Haldane?" said Delia with some diffidence.
"I have some knowledge of accompaniment, and am used to the organ; in
fact, I can sing _and_ play at the same time without difficulty."
"The very thing!" cried Haldane. "What a friend in need you are, Miss
Calmour."
They adjourned to the choir-loft over the west door, and Delia took her
seat at the organ. It was small, but a perfect little instrument for
the size of the building--here again Hilversea did not do things by
halves--and had an automatic blower.
"This is a treat," said the girl as she ran her fingers over the
keyboard. "Why, the instrument is perfect. What shall we start upon?"
"Arcadelt," said Yvonne. "Can you take soprano, Miss Calmour?"
"Yes."
"All safe. Then we are set up. Mr Wagram, you take tenor, and father
will take bass, though he's not as good as he might be at it. Now, are
you ready?"
And then Arcadelt's _Ave Maria_, than which, probably, no more beautiful
composition of its kind was ever wrought, in its solemn and plaintive
melody and exquisite interpretation of light and shade, went forth from
the four voices, cultured voices too, swelling up to the high-pitched
roof in all its richness of sound, and softening into tender petition.
"Lovely, lovely!" whispered Delia, half to herself, as it ended.
"It is, isn't it?" said Yvonne. "Do let's have it on Sunday, Mr
Wagram."
"Shall we?"
"Oh, do, Mr Wagram," echoed Delia enthusiastically. "I'll ride over,
wet or fine, if only to hear it."
"Very well, then, we will; but won't you not only hear it but help us in
it?"
"May I? Oh, I shall be delighted."
They tried over a few more things, including a gem or two of Gounod,
then adjourned to the house for tea.
"What a universal genius that little girl is, Wagram," said Haldane as
they walked thither, the two girls being in front.
"Yes; she's a clever child--seems able to turn her hand to anything."
And then he told of the day's doings.
"Good, and good again," said Haldane. "We must tell everyone to get
that number of _The Old Country Side_. Then they may give her another
job."
"I think they very likely will," said Wagram, with a twinkle in his eyes
that escaped his friend.