Had it not been for the contents of the envelope which she kept in the
right-hand drawer of her writing-table, and which she sometimes took out
surreptitiously, when neither her daughter nor old Anna were about, Mrs.
Otway, as those early August days slipped by, might well have thought
her farewell interview with Major Guthrie a dream.
For one thing there was nothing, positively nothing, in any of the daily
papers over which she wasted so much time each morning, concerning the
despatch of an Expeditionary Force to the Continent! Could Major Guthrie
have been mistaken?
Once, when with the Dean, she got very near the subject. In fact, she
ventured to say a word expressive of her belief that British troops
_were_ to be sent to France. But he snubbed her with a sharpness very
unlike his urbane self. "Nonsense!" he cried. "There isn't the slightest
thought of such a thing. Any small force we could send to the Continent
would be useless--in fact, only in the way!"
"Then why does Lord Kitchener ask for a hundred thousand men?"
"For home defence," said the Dean quickly, "only for home defence, Mrs.
Otway. The War Office is said to regard it as within the bounds of
possibility that England may be invaded. But I fancy the Kaiser is far
too truly attached to his mother's country to think of doing anything
_really_ to injure us! I am sure that so intelligent and enlightened a
sovereign understands our point of view--I mean about Belgium. The
Kaiser, without doubt, was overruled by the military party. As to our
sending our Army abroad--why, millions are already being engaged in this
war! So where would be the good of our small army?"
That had been on Sunday, only two days after Major Guthrie had gone. And
now, it being Wednesday, Mrs. Otway bethought herself that she ought to
fulfil her promise with regard to his mother. Somehow she had a curious
feeling that she now owed a duty to the old lady, and also--though that
perhaps was rather absurd--that she would be quite glad to see any one
who would remind her of her kind friend--the friend whom she missed more
than she was willing to admit to herself.
But of course her friend's surprising kindness and thought for her had
made a difference to her point of view, and had brought them, in a
sense, very much nearer the one to the other. In fact Mrs. Otway was
surprised, and even a little hurt, that Major Guthrie had not written to
her once since he went away. It was the more odd as he very often _had_
written to her during former visits of his to London. Sometimes they had
been quite amusing letters.
She put on a cool, dark-grey linen coat and skirt, and a shady hat, and
then she started off for the mile walk to Dorycote.
* * * * *
It was a very warm afternoon. Old Mrs. Guthrie, after she had had her
pleasant little after-luncheon nap, established herself, with the help
of her maid, under a great beech tree in the beautiful garden which had
been one of the principal reasons why Major Guthrie had chosen this
house at Dorycote for his mother. The old lady was wearing a pale
lavender satin gown, with a lace scarf wound about her white hair and
framing her still pretty pink and white face.
During the last few days the people who composed Mrs. Guthrie's little
circle had been too busy and too excited to come and see her. But she
thought it likely that to-day some one would drop in to tea. Any one
would be welcome, for she was feeling a little mopish.
No, it was not this surprising, utterly unexpected, War that troubled
her. Mrs. Guthrie belonged by birth to the fighting caste; her father
had been a soldier in his time, and so had her husband.
As for her only son, he had made the Army his profession, and she knew
that he had hoped to live and die in it. He had been through the Boer
War, and was wounded at Spion Kop, so he had done his duty by his
country; this being so, she could not help being glad now that Alick had
retired when he had. But she had wisely kept that gladness to herself as
long as he was with her. To Mrs. Guthrie's thinking, this War was
France's war, and Russia's war; only in an incidental sense England's
quarrel too.
Russia? Mrs. Guthrie had always been taught to mistrust Russia, and to
believe that the Tsar had his eye on India. She could remember, too, and
that with even now painful vividness, the Crimean War, for a man whom
she had cared for as a girl, whom indeed she had hoped to marry, had
been killed at the storming of the Redan. To her it seemed strange that
England and Russia were now allies.
As a matter of fact, the one moment of excitement the War had brought
her was in connection with Russia. An old gentleman she knew, a tiresome
neighbour whose calls usually bored rather than pleased her, had hobbled
in yesterday and told her, as a tremendous secret, that Russia was
sending a big army to Flanders _via_ England, through a place called
Archangel of which she had vaguely heard. He had had the news from
Scotland, where a nephew of his had actually seen and spoken to some
Russian officers, the advance guard, as it were, of these legions!
Mrs. Guthrie was glad this war had come after the London season was
over. Her great pleasure each day was reading the _Morning Post_, and
during this last week that paper had been a great deal too full of war
news. It had annoyed her, too, to learn that the Cowes Week had been
given up. Of course no German yachts could have competed, but apart from
that, why should not the regatta have gone on just the same? It looked
as if the King (God bless him!) was taking this war too seriously. Queen
Victoria and King Edward would have had a better sense of proportion.
The old lady kept these thoughts to herself, but they were there, all
the same.
Yes, it was a great pity Cowes had been given up. Mrs. Guthrie missed
the lists of names--names which in the majority of cases, unless of
course they were those of Americans and of uninteresting _nouveaux
riches_, recalled pleasant associations, and that even if the people
actually mentioned were only the children or the grandchildren of those
whom she had known in the delightful days when she had kept house for
her widower brother in Mayfair.
As she turned her old head stiffly round, and saw how charming her
well-kept lawn and belt of high trees beyond looked to-day, she felt
sorry that she had not written one or two little notes and bidden some
of her Witanbury Close acquaintances come out and have tea. The Dean,
for instance, might have come. Even Mrs. Otway, Alick's friend, would
have been better than nobody!
Considering that she did not like her, it was curious that Mrs. Guthrie
was one of the very few women in that neighbourhood who realised that
the mistress of the Trellis House was an exceptionally attractive
person. More than once--in fact almost always after chance had brought
the two ladies in contact, Mrs. Guthrie would observe briskly to her
son, "It's rather odd that your Mrs. Otway has never married again!" And
it always amused her to notice that it irritated Alick to hear her say
this. It was the Scotch bit of him which made Alick at once so shy and
so sentimental where women were concerned.
Mrs. Guthrie had no idea how very often her son went to the Trellis
House, but even had she known it she would only have smiled satirically.
She had but little sympathy with platonic friendships, and she
recognised, with that shrewd mother-sense so many women acquire late in
life, that Mrs. Otway was a most undesigning widow.
Not that it would have _really_ mattered if she had been the other sort.
Major Guthrie's own private means were small. It was true that after his
mother's death he would be quite well off, but Mrs. Guthrie, even if she
had a weak heart, did not think herself likely to die for a long, long
time.... And yet, as time went on, and as the old lady became, perhaps,
a thought less selfish, she began to wish that her son would fancy some
girl with money, and marrying, settle down. If that could come to pass,
then she, Mrs. Guthrie, would be content to live on by herself, in the
house which she had made so pretty, and where she had gathered about her
quite a pleasant circle of admiring and appreciative, if rather dull,
country friends.
But when she had said a word in that sense to Alick, he had tried to
turn the suggestion off as a joke. And as she had persisted in talking
about it, he had shown annoyance, even anger. At last, one day, he had
exclaimed, "I'm too old to marry a girl, mother! Somehow--I don't know
how it is--I don't seem to care very much for girls."
"There are plenty of widows you could marry," she said quickly. "A widow
is more likely to have money than a girl." He had answered, "But you see
I don't care for money." And then she had observed, "I don't see how you
could marry without money, Alick." And he had said quietly, "I quite
agree. I don't think I could." And it may be doubted if in his loyal
heart there had even followed the unspoken thought, "So long as you are
alive, mother."
Yes, Alick was a very good son, and Mrs. Guthrie did not grudge him his
curious friendship with Mrs. Otway.
And then, just as she was saying this to herself, not for the first
time, she heard the sound of doors opening and closing, and she saw,
advancing towards her over the bright green lawn, the woman of whom she
had just been thinking with condescending good-nature.
Mrs. Otway looked hot and a little tired--not quite as attractive as
usual. This perhaps made Mrs. Guthrie all the more glad to see her.
"How kind of you to come!" exclaimed the old lady. "But I'm sorry you
find me alone. I rather hoped my son might be back to-day. He had to go
up to London unexpectedly last Friday. He has an old friend in the War
Office, and I think it very likely that this man may have wanted to
consult him. I don't know if you are aware that Alick once spent a long
leave in Germany. Although I miss him, I should be glad to think he is
doing something useful just now. But of course I shouldn't at all have
liked the thought of his beginning again to fight--and at his time of
life!"
"I suppose a soldier is never too old to want to fight,"--but even while
she spoke, Mrs. Otway felt as if she were saying something rather trite
and foolish. She was a little bit afraid of the old lady, and as she sat
down her cheeks grew even hotter than the walking had made them, for she
suddenly remembered Major Guthrie's legacy.
"Yes, that's true, of course! And for the first two or three days of
last week I could see that Alick was very much upset, in fact horribly
depressed, by this War. But I pretended to take no notice of it--it's
always better to do that with a man! It's never the slightest use being
sympathetic--it only makes people more miserable. However, last Friday,
after getting a telegram, he became quite cheerful and like his old self
again. He wouldn't admit, even to me, that he had heard from the War
Office. But I put two and two together! Of course, as he is in the
Reserve, he may find himself employed on some form of home defence. I
could see that Alick thinks that the Germans will probably try and land
in England--invade it, in fact, as the Normans did." The old lady
smiled. "It's an amusing idea, isn't it?"
"But surely the fleet's there to prevent that!" said Mrs. Otway. She was
surprised that so sensible a man as Major Guthrie--her opinion of him
had gone up very much this last week--should imagine such a thing as
that a landing by the Germans on the English coast was possible.
"Oh, but he says there are at least a dozen schemes of English invasion
pigeonholed in the German War Office, and by now they've doubtless had
them all out and examined them. He has always said there is a very good
landing-place within twenty miles of here--a place Napoleon selected!"
A pleasant interlude was provided by tea, and as Mrs. Guthrie, her old
hand shaking a little, poured out a delicious cup for her visitor, and
pressed on her a specially nice home-made cake, Mrs. Otway began to
think that in the past she had perhaps misjudged Major Guthrie's
agreeable, lively mother.
Suddenly Mrs. Guthrie fixed on her visitor the penetrating blue eyes
which were so like those of her son, and which were indeed the only
feature of her very handsome face she had transmitted to her only child.
"I think you know my son very well?" she observed suavely.
Rather to her own surprise, Mrs. Otway grew a little pink. "Yes," she
said. "Major Guthrie and I are very good friends. He has sometimes been
most kind in giving me advice about my money matters."
"Ah, well, he does that to a good many people. You'd be amused to know
how often he's asked to be trustee to a marriage settlement, and so on.
But I've lately supposed, Mrs. Otway, that Alick has made a kind
of--well, what shall I say?--a kind of sister of you. He seems so fond
of your girl, too; he always _has_ liked young people."
"Yes, that's very true," said Mrs. Otway eagerly. "Major Guthrie has
always been most kind to Rose." And then she smiled happily, and added,
as if to herself, "Most people are."
Somehow this irritated the old lady. "I don't want to pry into anybody's
secrets," she said--"least of all, my son's. But I _should_ like to be
so far frank with you as to ask you if Alick has ever talked to you of
the Trepells?"
"The Trepells?" repeated Mrs. Otway slowly. "No, I don't think so. But
wait a moment--are they the people with whom he sometimes goes and stays
in Sussex?"
"Yes; he stayed with them just after Christmas. Then he _has_ talked to
you of them?"
"I don't think he's ever exactly talked of them," answered Mrs. Otway.
She was trying to remember what it was that Major Guthrie had said.
Wasn't it something implying that he was going there to please his
mother--that he would far rather stay at home? But she naturally did not
put into words this vague recollection of what he had said about
these--yes, these Trepells. "It's an odd name, and yet it seems familiar
to me," she said hesitatingly.
"It's familiar to you because they are the owners of the celebrated
'Trepell's Polish,'" said the old lady rather sharply. "But they're
exceedingly nice people. And it's my impression that Alick is thinking
very seriously of the elder daughter. There are only two
daughters--nice, old-fashioned girls, brought up by a nice,
old-fashioned mother. The mother was the younger daughter of Lord
Dunsmuir, and the Dunsmuirs were friends of the Guthries--I mean of my
husband's people--since the year one. Their London house is in Grosvenor
Square. When I call Maisie Trepell a girl, I do not mean that she is so
very much younger than my son as to make the thought of such a marriage
absurd. She is nearer thirty than twenty, and he is forty-six."
"Is she the young lady who came to stay with you some time ago?" asked
Mrs. Otway.
She was so much surprised, in a sense so much disturbed, by this
unexpected confidence that she really hardly knew what she was saying.
She had never thought of Major Guthrie as a marrying man. For one thing,
she had frequently had occasion to see him, not only with her own
daughter, but with other girls, and he had certainly never paid them any
special attention. But now she did remember vividly the fact that a
young lady had come and paid quite a long visit here before Easter. But
she remembered also that Major Guthrie had been away at the time.
"Yes, Maisie came for ten days. Unfortunately, Alick had to go away
before she left, for he had taken an early spring fishing with a friend.
But I thought--in fact, I rather hoped at the time--that he was very
much disappointed."
"Yes, he naturally must have been, if what you say is----" and then she
stopped short, for she did not like to say "if what you say is true," so
"if what you say is likely to come to pass," she ended vaguely.
"I hope it will come to pass." Mrs. Guthrie spoke very seriously, and
once more she fixed her deep blue eyes on her visitor's face. "I'm
seventy-one, not very old as people count age nowadays, but still I've
never been a strong woman, and I have a weak heart. I should not like to
leave my son to a lonely life and to a lonely old age. He's very
reserved--he hasn't made many friends in his long life. And I thought it
possible he might have confided to you rather than to me."
"No, he never spoke of the matter to me at all; in fact, we have never
even discussed the idea of his marrying," said Mrs. Otway slowly.
"Well, forget what I've said!"
But Mrs. Guthrie's visitor went on, a little breathlessly and
impulsively: "I quite understand how you feel about Major Guthrie, and I
daresay he would be happier married. Most people are, I think."
She got up; it was nearly six--time for her to be starting on her walk
back to Witanbury.
Obeying a sudden impulse, she bent down and kissed the old lady
good-bye. There was no guile, no taint of suspiciousness, in Mary
Otway's nature.
Mrs. Guthrie had the grace to feel a little ashamed.
"I hope you'll come again soon, my dear." She was surprised to feel how
smooth and how young was the texture of Mrs. Otway's soft,
generously-lipped mouth and rounded cheek.
There rose a feeling of real regret in her cynical old heart. "She likes
him better than she knows, and far better than I thought she did!" she
said to herself, as she watched the still light, still singularly
graceful-looking figure hurrying away towards the house.
As for Mrs. Otway, she felt oppressed, and yes, a little pained, by the
old lady's confidence. That what she had just been told might not be
true did not occur to her. What more natural than that Major Guthrie
should like a nice girl--one, too, who was, it seemed, half Scotch? The
Trepells were probably in London even now--she had seen it mentioned in
a paper that every one was still staying on in town. If so, Major
Guthrie was doubtless constantly in their company; and the letter she
had so--well, not exactly longed for, but certainly expected, might even
now be lying on the table in the hall of the Trellis House, informing
her of his engagement!
She remembered now what she had heard of the Trepells. It concerned the
great, the almost limitless, wealth brought in by their wonderful
polish. She found it difficult to think of Major Guthrie as a very rich
man. Of course, he would always remain, what he was now, a quiet,
unassuming gentleman; but all the same, she, Mary Otway, did feel that
somehow this piece of news made it impossible for her to accept the loan
he had so kindly and so delicately forced on her.
Mrs. Otway had a lively, a too lively, imagination, and it seemed to her
as if it was Miss Trepell's money which lay in the envelope now locked
away in her writing-table drawer. Indeed, had she known exactly where
Major Guthrie was just now, she would have returned it to him. But
supposing he had already started for France, and the registered letter
came back and was opened by his mother--how dreadful that would be!
When she reached home, and walked through into her cool, quiet house,
Mrs. Otway was quite surprised to find that there was no letter from
Major Guthrie lying for her on the hall table.