VANE'S AUNT
"I should have been killed to a certainty but for the way in which he
got me out of the way," said Gwen to Mrs. Perage, when recounting her
adventure, and speaking rather incoherently, for the same had shaken
her nerves.
Mrs. Perage growled. She was a gaunt, dark-brewed old lady, with a
formidable frown and a very determined character. "All's well that
ends well," she said in a deep contralto voice, which suggested that
of a man. "It might have been worse but for this hero of yours. Did
you take the number of the car?"
"My goodness!" cried the girl pettishly. "How could I, when I was
lying on my back in the ditch under the churchyard hedge? The car
passed like a flash."
"Daresay," sniffed Mrs. Perage aggressively. "Having done wrong, the
chauffeur got out of the way. We'll make inquiries and prosecute. I'd
hang every one of those road-hogs if I had my way."
"Oh, I don't think it is worth making a fuss about," said Gwen
quickly. "I am all right, and his ankle will soon be quite well. I
fetched the doctor as soon as I got him to Mrs. Bell's, and there are
no bones broken. He will be out and about in a few days."
"His--him--he," said Mrs. Perage sharply. "How indefinite you are.
What's the name of your Achilles?"
"Hench. Mr. Hench. So Mrs. Bell told me, and he's been with her for
nearly a whole week."
"Hench!" Mrs. Perage rubbed her beaky nose and reflected. "Why, that's
the name of Jim's friend he wrote me about. There was a letter of
introduction given. Hum! And he's been a week in Cookley without
calling. That doesn't look as if he wished to make my acquaintance,
Gwen."
"Perhaps he's down here on business," suggested the girl, "and did not
wish to call on any one until he was free."
"Well, if he doesn't call on me, I'll call on him," said the old dame
grimly; "if only to thank him for saving your life. Hum! Quite
romantic the way in which the man's come into your little world, my
dear. Quite romantic, I call it." Then, being very much the woman, in
spite of her masculine appearance, Mrs. Perage asked a leading
question. "Good-looking?"
"Oh!" Gwen clasped her hands. "He's a Greek god."
"So was Vulcan. Anything like that heavenly blacksmith?"
"No. He's tall and splendidly built, with brown hair and brown eyes;
clean-shaven with clearly-cut features."
"Hum!" Mrs. Perage brought out the ejaculation with a boom. "You
examined him pretty closely, young lady."
"Well, I had plenty of time to do so," retorted Miss Evans pertly. "I
helped him to hobble to Mrs. Bell's house, and saw him again to thank
him after the doctor had examined his poor ankle. I'm sure you will
like him."
"That has yet to be seen. I don't like many people. However, Jim says
that Mr. Hench is a thoroughly good fellow, and----"
"I'm sure he is. He saved my life."
"Consequently you intend to tumble head over heels in love with him?"
Gwen grew red. "I certainly don't. All the same he's very nice, and
I'm sorry he's suffering pain."
"Pity is akin to love," quoted Mrs. Perage, apparently to the ceiling.
The girl laughed and shook her head. "In spite of your matter-of-fact
ways and the common-sense you pride yourself upon, you have an
imaginative vein, Mrs. Perage. I am sure you see in this accident the
beginning of a romance."
"If the young man is handsome, as you say, and a good sort as Jim Vane
says, why not?" asked the old lady, smiling. "Besides, I don't believe
in chance, as everything is ordained by Providence. I shouldn't be at
all surprised if, in the long run, it was proved that Mr. Hench
tumbled out of the clouds to be your husband. However, it's early days
yet to talk. Wait and see!"
As the result of long experience, dating from the time when she was a
small child in short frocks, Gwen knew that it was useless to argue
with Mrs. Perage, so she left the room and went upstairs to change her
dress. And as a matter of fact, she had been extremely struck with
Hench's good looks, as a woman naturally would be. Also, he seemed to
be excessively agreeable, and likewise she owed him her life, not
forgetting that she was just at that age when girls begin to dream of
marriage. Poor Gwen had not passed a very happy time with her
cantankerous father, and was not averse to having a pleasant home and
an aggressively devoted lover. So she looked at herself in the glass,
pondering over Mrs. Perage's remarks, and blushed crimson to find that
Hench was taking up much more of her thoughts than she considered
altogether proper. That it was a case of love at first sight she would
not admit, but on the whole her feelings had a great deal to do with
the oft-quoted proverb.
On his side, Owain had no doubts whatever on the subject, strange as
it may seem, considering that hitherto he had never been in love. His
cousin's lovely face, her sympathetic kindness, together with the
undeniable fact that he had saved her life, created in him a number of
tumultuous feelings, which he spent the night in analysing. To be
sure, he told himself that he did so because the pain of his ankle
kept him wide awake, and because thoughts in this direction took his
mind off his aching bones. But when the dawn came, he was tolerably
certain that he was in love. The feeling he now experienced was wholly
different to that with which he had regarded Zara. He had admired the
dancer in a cool, reflective, judicious way, seeing that she had
faults as well as virtues. But in Gwen he could see no faults, and
never paused to consider that he could scarcely know her character
from the little he had seen of her.
Sensible as Hench usually was, some power--he presumed it was the
power of love---swept him off his feet, and he credited the girl with
all the virtues of the angels, and with their beauty also. He was glad
that he had saved her, as she would be grateful; he was glad that he
had hurt himself, as she would pity him; and he was decidedly glad
that he had concealed the relationship. Now, at least, there was every
chance that he would be able to make a friend of her. Not that he
wanted to halt at friendship. He was now firmly bent upon making her
his wife, and thus would be able to fulfil Mr. Gilberry's prophecy and
end the family feud in quite an agreeable and romantic way. All the
night Owain was building castles in the air, and when the dawn came
they were still firm. Only on the arrival of the doctor to examine his
ankle did the young man descend from these Olympian heights. Then,
with a sudden and very natural reaction, he began to think that he had
been too premature in his building.
The result of this was disastrous to Gwen. She called at mid-day to
see how he was getting on, and he received her coldly, while lying on
the slippery horse-hair sofa in Mrs. Bell's tiny sitting-room. The
girl, flushed with the romance of the whole adventure and struck anew
with the splendid looks of her preserver, felt chilled by his calm
politeness. The two talked in a more or less formal way and parted
very soon. Gwen went back to tell Mrs. Perage that her hero was
horrid, and her hero remained on his sofa trying to assure himself
that he had rescued only an ordinary girl. But it was all of no use,
for Nature would have her way. During the next few days the two met
under the chaperonage of the widow Bell, and gradually became aware
that the feelings they entertained towards one another were more than
those of mere friendship. Of course this knowledge made them more
stiff and formal than ever in their intercourse, as their conversation
was confined to commonplace subjects, not likely to awaken emotion.
Hench was anxious to ask his cousin about her father, but as she said
nothing, he did not venture to broach the matter. Still, remembering
that she had been clothed in white on the day of the accident, and
seeing that her frocks since, beyond black ribbons, did not suggest
mourning in any great degree, he came to the conclusion that she had
not been particularly attached to her father, although he could not be
quite sure. But all doubts on this question were set aside by Mrs.
Perage, who placed matters very plainly before him, according to her
somewhat grim custom.
The old lady did not call for a few days, although she sent creams and
jellies, books and flowers, by the hands of Gwen. Owain was very
grateful for these kind attentions, and asked Miss Evans to take back
his letter of introduction, which she did. Etiquette thus having been
complied with, one day, instead of the fairy vision of Gwen, the
patient beheld a tall and lean old dame stalk into his room. By this
time he was able to get about with a crutch, and rose to greet her,
upon which she thrust him back into his armchair with a pair of very
capable hands.
"Not so," said Mrs. Perage, when he was again seated and taking a
chair opposite, where she kilted her black stuff dress to show a pair
of large boots. "Stay where you are, young man. Hum! You look better
than I expected."
"I'm quite well now, thank you, Mrs. Perage. And I must apologise for
not having presented Jim's letter before."
"Jim sent another letter, and I know all about you," said the old lady
sharply.
"Oh, I don't think you do," said Hench, rather alarmed, as he feared
that Vane might have been indiscreet.
"Why not?" Mrs. Perage bent her sharp old eyes on his perturbed face,
the good looks of which she secretly approved of. "There's nothing
wrong about you, I hope and trust?"
"Not what you would call wrong," said Hench evasively.
"Pooh, young man. How do you know anything about my standard of
morality. I don't suppose it's what you'd call a high one," added Mrs.
Perage, rubbing her nose. "I always make allowance for fools, and most
of those who dwell in this world, which is much too good for them, are
fools."
Hench laughed. He liked Mrs. Perage, who was quite a character. In her
young days she had been a great beauty, although she was now old and
weather-beaten, careless of her attire, and quite manly in her manner.
Since the death of her husband, some thirty years ago, she had managed
her estates herself, for being childless she had little else to do,
and had long since outgrown the toys which amuse Society. For a woman
she was uncommonly tall, and with her aquiline nose, her swart
complexion and dark eyes, she resembled a gipsy. In spite of her
coarse dress so carelessly worn, there was an air of good-breeding
about her, and also a shrewd look on her fierce face. Owain stared
hard at her Amazonian looks, considering that here was a woman who
should have been the mother of heroes to gird armour on them and send
them forth to the fray. She was quite out of place in a peaceful
community.
"Well, young man," said Mrs. Perage roughly, "you'll know me again, I
daresay, if staring goes for anything. What are your thoughts?"
Hench told them and suggested how unfit she was for a peaceful world
where a policeman stands at every corner. "I can't see you anywhere,
Mrs. Perage, but in some Norse hall, worshipping Odin and urging men
to battle."
"Perhaps going to battle myself," said the old dame grimly, yet very
pleased with the strange compliment. "Hum! You are right, the world is
tame now-a-day, and a long life has bored me with the petty concerns
of baby folk. You seem to have ideas in your head, Master Owain."
Hench stared and fear clutched at his heart. If she knew this much,
she might know more. "Who told you my Christian name?" he faltered.
"My own common sense, man alive! I have lived here all my life and
knew your grandfather, Mynydd Evans, aye and your father, and Madoc
also. Hench was the name Owain took when he was outlawed. See, my boy,
how naturally I use the Norse word, after your suggestions of my being
a modern Valkyrie."
"Does my cousin know who I am?" asked the young man anxiously. "No. I
wanted to see you first before I told her."
"Don't tell her, Mrs. Perage."
"Why not. Hum!"--her eyes were as piercing as spears--"there is some
reason for you masquerading as Hench."
"Hench was the name adopted by my father, and until a few days ago I
quite believed that it was my true name. But certain papers which he
left with our family lawyers explained matters."
"Did they explain that you inherit Cookley Grange and ten thousand a
year?"
"Yes."
"Hum!"--Mrs. Perage rubbed her nose again and looked puzzled. "Then,
knowing that you were the heir, why did you not come and see your
uncle after the death of your father? I know he died in Paris five
years ago, as Madoc told me."
"I did not know that I was the heir until my twenty-fifth birthday on
the tenth day of this month. My father left instructions with Gilberry
& Gilberry that they were not to give the papers to me until then. I
have already told you, Mrs. Perage, that only lately did I learn my
true name."
The old dame nodded absently, thinking deeply for a few minutes. "I
think your father was wise to keep you thus in ignorance until you
were older and had some experience of the world. A man of twenty-five
could have managed Madoc better than a boy of twenty. Yes, Owain was
wise, knowing Madoc's character."
"The late Squire does not appear to have had a very good one,"
remarked Hench dryly. "He was unpopular, I am told by Mrs. Bell."
"He was a wicked, selfish, greedy, miserly old scoundrel," retorted
Mrs. Perage, aggressively blunt. "And if that's speaking evil of the
dead, I don't care. I am quite sure that Madoc fed your grandfather's
anger when it was directed towards Owain, who, after all, was not so
very evil, although selfish enough. Still, your father would never
have been cut out of the will but for Madoc. And if Madoc had met you,
young man, he would have tried to settle your hash in some way, you
may be certain."
"Oh!" Hench started, and was on the point of revealing the story of
the advertisement and his adventure, when he checked himself prudently
and made quite a different remark. "But if Uncle Madoc was such a
rotter, why is Gwen such a nice girl, and I am sure a good girl?"
"She is all that," endorsed Mrs. Perage heartily. "And if your father
was such a selfish profligate--I don't wish to hurt your filial
feelings, but he was--why are you such a nice young man?"
Hench coloured at the compliment. "I may be a profligate also."
"Pooh!" said Mrs. Perage with supreme contempt, "don't you think that
I am able to read faces? Yours is a good one and so is Gwen's. The
decency of you both comes in each case from the mother's side, I
expect, for both your fathers were--what they were. Children of Old
Nick, I call them. You had a bad time with that father of yours, I'll
be bound?"
"Well"--Hench winced--"he was not a very amiable parent, I must admit,
although I wouldn't say that to any one save you."
Mrs. Perage bent her keen old eyes on him, read between the lines, and
laughed in a short rasping manner after the style of a fox barking.
"Just as I thought, young man. Owain was a selfish, cruel animal, and
so was Madoc. He gave you as bad a time as Madoc did Gwen."
"I rather gathered from Gwen's absence of mourning that she had no
great love for her father," remarked Hench musingly. "Your powers of
observation are great, Owain. Gwen and her father got on about as well
together as a ferret and a rabbit; she being the last and he the
first. But for me I don't know what the poor girl would have done. She
would have run away from home, I expect. However, she always came to
me when her father was particularly trying, and now she has come to me
altogether. With me she will stay, until you take her away."
Hench raised himself on his elbow and blushed in a delightfully
youthful manner. "What makes you say that?" he asked confusedly.
"Am I a fool?" queried Mrs. Perage grimly. "Doesn't a cat love cream,
and is not a young man likely to fall in love with one whose life he
has saved, provided that one is charming and good. Go to, my boy." She
spoke quite in the style of her nephew Jim. "I can see through a brick
wall, I suppose. But all this doesn't explain why you are masquerading
here under your father's false name. Come now, tell me all about it."
Hench did not do as she asked him, even though she was such a sensible
old lady, for he thought that the time was not yet ripe for him to
speak freely about his Gipsy Stile adventure. Therefore he told her
the same story that he had told to Mr. Gilberry. "And you see I was
right to meet my cousin under a feigned name," he concluded, "for had
I come as Owain Evans she would have been prejudiced against me."
"Well, I don't know." Mrs. Perage again rubbed her nose thoughtfully.
"As you may guess, Madoc always spoke ill of you, saying you were the
true son of your wicked father, which was a case of the pot calling
the kettle black, I rather think. But, you see, Madoc hated the idea
of your getting the property."
"He wanted Gwen to get it?"
"Not a bit. So long as you didn't succeed he would have been content
to let an hospital have it. He cared nothing for his daughter, and
being such a bad father she naturally disbelieved anything he said.
Far from thinking you the rascal Madoc said you were, Gwen fancied
that you were quite a nice agreeable young man, which you are. I think
she would have welcomed Owain Evans just as kindly as she has welcomed
Owain Hench. All the same, if you win her heart as a disguised prince
the romance of it will appeal to her when she learns the delightful
truth."
Hench laughed, feeling greatly relieved. "Mrs. Perage, I don't believe
you are a Norse goddess. You are much too romantic."
"Perhaps, young man. I am an old fool."
"You are one of the most charming people I have ever met," said Hench
warmly.
"Pooh!" retorted Mrs. Perage, pleased with the compliment. "Don't make
love to me, or you'll break Gwen's heart."
"Has she a heart to break--on my account, that is?"
"Young man,"--Mrs. Perage rose until her head nearly touched the low
ceiling, and she assumed her grand manner,--"you don't expect one
woman to tell the secrets of another woman. All the same, a nod is as
good as a wink to a blind horse. And you are blind, being in love."
"Am I in love?"
"Something tells me that you are--and with Gwen. But if you are
already engaged, or if there is any other girl in the question, I tell
you, young man, that I won't have it. Gwen is much too good a girl to
be trifled with."
"Oh, I assure you, I am not going to trifle with her."
"Good. If you do, you'll have me to reckon with," said the old woman
grimly. "I am quite Norse enough to twist your neck if you repeat in
your own person the very objectionable character of your father. Tell
me plump and plain, if you please: do you love Gwen?"
"I think so."
"Think so! Then you don't love her. No man worth a woman's affection
can be in doubt on that point."
"Well, you see, I'm a bit of an ass as regards women," confessed
Hench, flustered by her imperious insistence. "I have never been in
love before."
"All the better!" cried Mrs. Perage sharply. "But I thought I was."
"Hum! Well, and why not; one must gain experience. How many times?"
"Once only. I admired this girl but she loved another man, so I went
away."
"Hum!" said Mrs. Perage once more. "Is your heart broken?"
"Oh Lord, no. I soon got over it."
"Then you haven't been in love. But with regard to Gwen"--Mrs. Perage
suddenly sat down and laughed heartily--"aren't we rather silly to
talk in this way? We are only weaving ropes of sand, for I know
nothing certain about the state of your affections or those of Gwen. I
think I had better let you two manage things in your own way, and as
Mother Nature--who has a large experience--dictates. All I say is, act
honestly towards the girl, or you'll have me to deal with.
Understand?"
"I understand." Hench laughed. "You can trust me."
Mrs. Perage went away very well satisfied with the state of affairs.
At heart she was romantic like every woman, and like every woman she
was quite a matchmaker. There was no young man in Cookley worthy of
Gwen, so far as she knew, and this swain--so her thoughts ran--had
been brought by Providence in the nick of time to save the girl from
being an old maid. She longed to speak as freely to Miss Evans as she
had spoken to her cousin, but did not dare to do so, lest she should
frighten her into banishing the dawning feeling of love. Mrs. Perage
had seen much harm come from meddling, so decided to refrain from
throwing the young people too violently at one another's heads. But
she certainly threw them gently, for when Hench was nearly all right a
few days later, she sent him an invitation to dinner. This he accepted
with great delight, and the more eagerly as Gwen had ceased her visits
since he became convalescent. At the dinner he would have a chance of
seeing her again, and perhaps an opportunity of hinting at his
feelings. For by this time he had proved the truth of the saying that
"Absence makes the heart grow fonder," and was very sure that he
really and truly loved her with all the power that was in him. And
this was the genuine passion of man for woman--not the counterfeit one
which had led him to seek Zara Alpenny.
By this time, since the Hungarian lady was not making trouble, Hench
began to think that she would leave him alone altogether. Surely, he
thought, if she intended to scheme for her daughter's marriage with
him, she would have made some advance before now. Her silence lifted a
weight off his mind, and he arrayed himself in purple and fine linen
for the dinner, feeling that the sun of prosperity was beaming on him.
He went to Mrs. Perage's house, believing that the fine weather would
continue, and quite forgot the adage about the treacherous calm before
the storm. But when he got to the door, and the door was opened by a
small smart page with a freckled face and red hair, he was reminded
that it did not do to trust wholly to appearance. The sight of the boy
gave him quite a shock, and an uncomfortable one, reminding him as he
did of Bethnal Green.
"Bottles!" he said, stepping into the hall and staring at the lad.
"No, sir; no, Mr. Hench. I'm Peter!" grinned the boy, and began to
help Hench off with his overcoat.
Then Owain remembered how Simon Jedd had told him he had a brother in
service in the country--the same he had gone to see. But he never
expected to find that brother in Cookley and in the service of Mrs.
Perage. "You know my name?" he said hesitatingly, and wondering if the
imp was to be trusted.
"Oh yes, sir. Simon has spoken heaps heaps of times to me about you,
saying how kind you were to him. Knew your name, sir, the minute Miss
Gwen said as you'd saved her life."
"Simon came down to see you some weeks ago?"
"Yes, sir!" Peter spoke eagerly, and was evidently about to say much,
when he suddenly shut his wide mouth and said no more than the two
words.
Hench settled his coat and his tie, pondering over the situation. The
sight of the boy, who was connected with Bottles, revived his anxiety,
and he feared lest the lad should write to London and say where he
was. In that case Madame Alpenny might find him out, and then there
would be trouble. But then Simon, if he did write, would do so to his
brother, and Bottles was entirely to be trusted. Still, Hench would
have liked to give this page a hint, yet could not do so, as it would
be undignified. Peter noted his lingering and hesitation.
"Simon wants to see you, sir. It's all right."
"What's all right?" asked Hench sharply.
The page wriggled uneasily. "Simon will tell you, sir. I don't know
nothing, I don't, Mr. Hench."
Owain felt uneasy at the implied mystery, but judged it wise to affect
careless confidence. "Simon can come and see me when he likes," he
said, and entered the drawing-room, considerably annoyed by the
encounter.