PERSHORE CASTLE
What was Norman doing? He did not come to the Hall on that day, nor on
the next, and it was not until the third day that Pamela heard he had
gone away the afternoon before. The close intercourse between the Hall
and the Grange was lessening. Lady Eldridge had been left alone at the
Grange, and she had not proposed herself to dine at the Hall, or asked
any of them to keep her company. Pamela felt unhappy about it all. They
seemed to be drifting apart, and nobody was doing anything to prevent
it. If Fred was right about Norman, he was even acting in such a way as
to make the breach wider. She had decided to say something to him about
the inquiries he had been making, but he had kept away from her. That
was very unlike him, and it was not in the bargain he had made with her.
They two were to ignore the quarrel altogether, and be just as they had
been before. He was not ignoring the quarrel, but apparently taking a
hand in it, and he had gone away without a word to her, which she could
not remember his ever having done. Perhaps he was annoyed with her for
having admitted Fred into so much intimacy. Well, she had her own
reasons for that, and to stand aloof from her himself wasn't the way to
recommend his opinion to her. It was rather a relief to her that Fred
had also gone away for a couple of days, for she had not decided yet
what she should do with the information he had brought her, and she had
no inclination to discuss her course of action with him.
She went over to the Grange in the morning to see her aunt. She still
had faith in her, and knew from her mother how troubled she was about
the estrangement. But she had not talked with her about it herself. She
thought she might, this morning, if she were given a chance.
But Lady Eldridge did not give her a chance. She was in her pretty room,
busy with a water-colour drawing of flowers. She was pleased to see Pam,
and kept her to lunch with her. They played the piano together and sang,
and cut flowers from the garden and arranged them. It was just such a
quiet happy morning as Pam had often spent with her, except that it was
not very happy. There was the shadow over both of them. Pamela could see
that her aunt was sad about it, but also that she did not want it
mentioned. The terms they were on did not permit of her breaking through
the implied prohibition unless she had had a firmly fixed purpose in
doing so. But no purpose was yet fixed in her.
She learnt that Norman was coming back the next day, bringing two
Cambridge friends with him, who were going to stay for a fortnight and
read hard; also that her uncle was not coming down for the week-end. It
was the third he had missed in a few weeks, and it was the time of year
when he generally stayed at Hayslope altogether. It looked as if he were
keeping away on purpose, and she thought that her aunt had mentioned
his not being expected as an intimation that nobody need stay away from
the Grange because of him. It was a sad pass for them to have come to,
and Pamela was not encouraged, as she walked home, by the thought that
her aunt seemed to accept it, though not without distress.
The next day Colonel and Mrs. Eldridge, Pamela and Judith went over to
lunch at Pershore Castle. There was a niece staying in the house, for
whom the society of other young girls was desired. Pamela found her
uninteresting. She was just a niece--of the sort who is to be found in
most country houses, and unless deflected by matrimony develops in
course of time into a cousin, of the sort who is to be found in most
country houses. Some bright life was wanted for the benefit of the
niece, who was bright herself in a niece-like way, and indeed seemed to
possess all the attributes and attainments of a country-house niecehood.
They lunched in a vaulted stone hall, decorated with armour and ancient
weapons, but Lord and Lady Crowborough, though both descended from
ancestors who might have worn the armour and wielded the weapons, made
it appear rather commonplace. Lord Crowborough was genial, and rather
heavily playful with the girls, and especially with the niece, who
responded to him in the way required, and Lady Crowborough, who had
begun by being stately, soon thawed into almost profuse friendship
towards Colonel Eldridge on her right and Judith on her left. Horsham
sat next to Judith, who was inclined to be silent. Pam was on the other
side of the table, next to the niece, and his eyes were frequently
attracted to her. He might possibly have told the niece how it was with
him, for she made efforts to include them both in conversation. But it
is more likely that, guided by some subtle instinct, she was, unknown to
herself, preparing for the years of cousinship ahead, when Horsham would
sit where his father sat now, and his wife, whoever she might be, would
invite her to pay long visits to them.
She took Judith off somewhere after lunch, and left Pamela with Horsham.
This was not to Pamela's liking, but she soon discovered that it was to
his. She did not pay much attention to his conversation, feeling a
trifle drowsy after the half glass of Moselle which Lord Crowborough had
insisted upon her drinking, until she woke up to the fact that he was
endeavouring in a tentative and rather clumsy way to make love to her.
She was inclined to be flattered, because she had now made up her mind
that he liked Judith better than he liked her, though he might not be
fully aware of it yet himself. But she did not want to be made love to
for the moment, however tentatively. It was too hot, for one thing, and
even half a glass of Moselle induces a disinclination to mental effort
when your preference in fluids is for plain water.
She staved off the pressure for a time by asking him exactly how far he
thought it was from Hayslope to Pershore, and expressing doubt at his
answer. If she had thought of it she would have asked him to fetch a
map, and he would have done so willingly and proved that he was right.
But he ended that discussion by saying: "Whatever the distance is, I
wish it was less. Then I should see you oftener."
This was no longer tentative, though it might be lacking in finesse. It
was too much trouble to fence with it, only to have it pressed home.
"Oh, my dear old Jim," she said, "I don't want you to say that sort of
thing. Let's talk sensibly, if we must talk. But to tell you the truth,
I feel rather sleepy. Couldn't we both drop off for a few minutes? These
chairs are very comfortable."
Horsham was sitting up in his. They were on a terrace edged with a
battlemented wall, from which there was a fine spreading view of the
country that this ancient castle had once dominated. Men at arms had
paced up and down the flags upon which the wicker chairs and tables were
now so invitingly displayed, and if a fair lady had ever been wooed
there by the inheritor of all the power and wealth that had been
represented by Pershore Castle, it would have been in very different
terms from those now being used by his descendant.
Nevertheless, Lord Horsham possessed, in addition to his quite modern
tastes, habits and appearance, some sense, not to be confounded with
vanity, of the dignities he had inherited, or would inherit, and a
certain direct simplicity of purpose such as had probably had a good
deal to do with advancing his ancestors to the summit of their desires.
He passed over completely Pamela's very modern expression of humour, and
said: "I hadn't thought of saying anything to you now because it's just
a chance that we are here alone, and I don't know how much time there'll
be. But there's no sense in keeping back what's there, and I know my
own mind by this time. It's quite simple. You're the only girl I've ever
seen that I should like to marry--I don't mean yet; but is there any
chance of it?"
This had been said, not altogether without intimations of nervousness,
but with a weight that forbade the response of raillery. Pamela
corrected herself, and replied: "I'm afraid not, Jim. I like you very
much indeed. I always have and I always shall; but I don't want to marry
you."
"I suppose you mean that you don't love me."
"Well--I suppose I do; at least not in that way."
"I didn't think you did, you know," he said, not showing nervousness
now. "But don't you think it would come? I don't know much about how
these things work, because I've never gone about trying to fall in love,
as some fellows seem to do. But I did read in a book somewhere that
women often fell in love with men after they were married, though men
didn't."
Pamela allowed herself some relaxation in her attitude of seriousness
and laughed. "I don't think it does to go by books in that sort of
thing," she said. "Aren't you making a mistake in your feelings about
me, Jim? I know you like me, and I'm very glad you do. I like you too.
But we don't seem to be exactly cut out for one another. Really, you get
on much better with Judith than you do with me. There's much more in
common between you."
"Oh, I know what you think about me and Judith," he said, surprisingly.
"I do get on very well with Judith, but it isn't the same thing at all.
You've often sent me off with Judith when I've wanted to be with you,
and I've gone because I didn't want to worry you, before I'd said what
I've said just now, which I've been meaning to say for some time. It's
you I love, not Judith."
This touched her a little. "I'm awfully grateful to you, Jim," she said.
"But I can't say what you want. And I'm still not sure that you really
do want it. Perhaps I ought not to say it--but we are such good friends,
aren't we? And as we've mentioned Judith--I'm sure _she_ has no idea of
such a thing, and of course she and I have never talked about you in
that way--I really do believe that you like her much better than you
think you do. She's a darling, and ever so much prettier than I am, and
much more suited to you too. If you could once get me out of your head!"
He listened gravely, and seemed to be weighing what she said. "I've
never thought about Judith in that way at all," he said. "She's too
young for one thing."
"Oh, yes," she said hurriedly, blushing a little. "Perhaps it's rather
horrid of me to talk of her like that. And of course I don't mean now.
You're quite young too--not old enough to want to be married yet."
"I shouldn't _aim_ at getting married yet," he confessed, "in the
ordinary way, perhaps not for a few years. But there's no reason against
it. When I've left Oxford, which will be in another year, I shall be
settling down to work, and it has lately seemed to me that I could work
much better if I was married--to somebody I love, as I love you, who
would help me in everything I did."
"Dear old Jim," she said affectionately. "Somehow, I think you've got
hold of the right idea of marriage. With the right girl you would be
happy, and I think you would make her happy too. But I'm sure _I'm_ not
the right girl for you. We'll go on being friends, though, all the
same."
He heaved a sigh. "Well, I can see it's no good going on about it," he
said. "All the same, I shan't give up the idea. I suppose there's nobody
else you do want to marry, is there?"
"No," she said shortly.
"Well, then, I shall ask you again--when I've left Oxford, and am ready
to start. Until then, I shan't bother you--not at all, and I shall be
glad to go on being friends, as you say you will be. You won't tell
anyone what I've asked you, will you?"
She hesitated. "I'd rather you didn't tell Norman," he said. "I like
Norman, and I don't mind his chaff a bit. But I'd rather not be chaffed
about this, because I feel seriously about it."
"No, Jim, I won't," she said. "I won't tell anybody until you say that I
may."
Lady Crowborough and Mrs. Eldridge had retired together after luncheon,
into an upstairs drawing-room, which had a still finer view of the
surrounding dappled country than the terrace below.
Mrs. Eldridge was in a mood slightly mischievous. She had seen Lady
Crowborough thaw towards her husband, whom she had probably designed to
keep at arm's length. She had not yet thawed towards herself, and this
retirement to a room not often used, instead of to one with a more
intimate significance, seemed to mean that she would be treated with all
courtesy and consideration due to her, but not admitted to any
heart-felt intercourse.
She talked politely, on the surface of things, and Lady Crowborough
responded in the same tone, and as if this was exactly what she wished.
She even appeared to be taking the stand of a great, but still affable,
lady towards a country neighbour of less exalted position, which Mrs.
Eldridge encouraged by due submission. But presently she seemed to be
getting uneasy at the absence of the intimacy that had existed for years
between her and this particular neighbour, and to be inviting a change
in the tone of the conversation. Mrs. Eldridge did not respond to the
invitation, but became rather more colourlessly polite than before.
"I always think that you have such lovely views from here," she said,
looking out of the window. "We have beautiful views from some of our
windows at Hayslope--not all--and the Castle shows up so well from
there. But of course you can't live in it and have it to look at too."
"No," Lady Crowborough agreed, and added with a smile, as of one who was
saying something rather clever: "Sometimes I wish we had it to look at
instead of to live in. There seems no end to the expenses of living in a
house as large as this, even when you live as simply as we do.
_Everything_ has gone up since the war. _Everything._ Don't you find it
so?"
"Yes," said Mrs. Eldridge. "In our small way we do."
"Even clothes," said Lady Crowborough. "I'm really glad not to be in
London so much as we used to be. In the country one can wear old
clothes, and it doesn't matter."
"It wouldn't matter, of course, what _you_ wore," said Mrs. Eldridge,
and wished Pamela had been there to hear the way she said it. "In our
position we have to be more careful. I find it difficult to dress myself
and the girls nicely without spending too much on it."
"Oh, but you always look so _beautifully_ dressed," said Lady
Crowborough. "And as for girls, I was only thinking at lunch how
perfectly charming they looked. They really are the _sweetest_ looking
girls, both of them; and so clever and taking too. Of course I always
admired them as little girls; but pretty little girls don't always grow
up so pretty. Both Pamela and Judith have. I'm not sure that Judith
won't be even prettier than Pamela by and by."
"Yes, I think they are pretty, both of them," said Mrs. Eldridge
judicially. "And they are looking their best to-day. Excitement always
improves young girls, and they have been so looking forward to coming
here, ever since we had your kind note."
Her artistic sense reproached her for having gone perhaps a trifle too
far, but Lady Crowborough by now was extremely anxious to cast away the
tiresome impediments of reserve. "Oh, you must bring them over more
often," she said, "especially now we have my niece staying with us. I
was saying to my husband only yesterday, we don't see _half_ enough of
the Eldridges, and we've always been such close friends. There was a
little trouble, I know, between my husband and yours, but that's all
over now, and it never affected us, did it? Couldn't we arrange a little
picnic together somewhere--just ourselves and your children? I should
like Patricia to know Alice and Isabelle. They're not so pretty as
Pamela and Judith, but they _are_ pretty, and they're such clever and
amusing children. I often wish I had a daughter of my own. I think
you're lucky in having four of them."
Mrs. Eldridge allowed herself to relax. "Four daughters are rather a
responsibility in these days," she said. "We couldn't do without one of
ours, even Alice and Isabelle, who are perfectly hideous, but darlings
all the same. Still, it's far less anxiety to have an only son, as you
have; especially when he's so well-behaved, as Horsham."
Lady Crowborough felt the change of atmosphere, and all her responsive
petals unfolded to it. "I don't mind saying to such an old friend as
you," she said confidentially, "that we were a little afraid of
Horsham's becoming rather wild at one time. But that's all over. He is
taking life quite seriously now, though I'm glad to say that it doesn't
prevent his being bright and gay in a way that a young man ought to be."
"Oh, no!" exclaimed Mrs. Eldridge, and again wished that Pamela were
there to hear her--or if not Pamela, _somebody_ who could appreciate
her.
"I should like Horsham to marry early and settle down," said Lady
Crowborough. "I don't approve of very early marriages as a rule, but in
his case I think it would turn out well."
"I'm sure he would make a good husband," said Mrs. Eldridge. "His wife
would never have a moment's anxiety about him."
"No, I don't think she would. And do you know, dear Mrs. Eldridge, I've
a fancy in my head that he is thinking about it already."
"Really? That's very interesting. Is it your niece? She seems a very
nice girl."
"Oh, no. Patricia and he get on very well together, but there's never
likely to be anything of that sort between them. Patricia is going in
for music; she has a very pretty little voice--you must hear her
sing--and though she _needn't_ do anything, you never know with a girl,
in these days. No, it isn't Patricia, dear. I wonder you haven't seen
something yourself; you must look much nearer home."
"One of _my_ girls?" she laughed, naturally. "Which one?" she asked.
"Why, Pamela, of course. Judith is hardly grown up yet."
"And Alice and Isabelle are too ugly, besides being still less grown up.
Well, he does like coming over to us, and we're always very pleased to
see him. But really, I don't think it has got as far as that yet. If it
had I shouldn't have asked which of the girls you suspected. He seems to
like them both equally--all four equally, I might almost say. If it
_were_ Pamela, should you think she was quite good enough for him?"
The artistic conscience approved of this question, as carrying over the
earlier tone of the conversation into the later. But Lady Crowborough
had quite done with that earlier tone. "Oh, my dear!" she said in
expostulation. "We're not _worldly_. You ought to know us better than
that by this time. Besides, Pamela might marry anybody. _You're_ not
worldly either, I'm sure; but you would expect her to make what is
called a good match, I should think. Besides--_your_ daughter!"
Mrs. Eldridge forgave her everything. "It would be rather nice," she
said. "I shall hate to lose Pam. It seems such a little time ago that
she was a tiny child. I suppose she's a little more to me than the
others, because she was the first girl. Still, I've got to lose her some
time or other, and I should love it if she didn't go _very_ far away. At
the same time, you know, I don't think it's going to happen."
Lady Crowborough looked disappointed. She had always shown herself very
much taken with Pamela, since her babyhood, and Mrs. Eldridge had known,
all the time she was amusing herself with her attempted stand-offishness
towards herself, that she had only to mention Pamela's name to turn it
into entire friendliness. "I _should_ like it," she said. "And I suppose
neither you nor Colonel Eldridge would object, would you?"
"No, of course we shouldn't. One has to think of the sort of marriage
one's daughters are likely to make, and we couldn't expect a more
satisfactory one, for any of our girls."
"Well, there is the position, of course," said Lady Crowborough, with a
slight return to her great lady manner. "But nobody would fill it better
than Pamela--as a _young_ wife, I mean."
A glint appeared in Mrs. Eldridge's eyes. "You would be able to teach
her what she didn't know," she said.
"Oh, yes. There's nothing so very difficult about it, if you're of the
right sort of birth to begin with. Well, there's no hurry. They're both
quite young still. But I _should_ like it to happen, I must say; and I'm
quite glad we've had a little talk about it. There'd be no harm in
trying to help it on, would there? If you and I are agreed, we might do
something, of course without showing our hands, you know."
"Yes; you said something about a picnic just now."
All Lady Crowborough's petals expanded to their utmost. "Ah!" she
exclaimed ecstatically. "A picnic. Now do let us arrange a picnic!"