MR. RICHARD’S MANIA.
Chris was busy with the “properties,” which had been collected from
different parts of the house, without any formality of asking Mr.
Bradfield’s permission to use them. Curtains, carpets, valuable Persian
rugs, swords, spears, ancient armour (some of it from Birmingham), and
“antique” cabinets (chiefly from Germany, by way of Wardour Street).
These had all been treated with scant consideration by the performers,
and they now lay scattered about the stage, or were piled in heaps at
the back of it, behind the curtains which served as a back-cloth.
Chris knelt down, and began to look over the things, to see what
mischief had been done. But she had not been long on her knees when she
heard the door of the barn creak, and someone enter softly. Supposing
the intruder to be Donald, she did not look round until he had got upon
the stage. When she did glance in his direction, she found that the
visitor was not Donald, but Mr. Richard. He wore a caped cloak, and
held his hat in his hand; and it suddenly occurred to Chris that he was
the handsome stranger who had roused the admiration of Lilith. She rose
from her knees, and held out her hand with a smile. Mr. Richard’s face
became instantly bright with pleasure. But as his smile of greeting
died away, a look of anxiety came over his features, which it was easy
enough to understand. He was troubled because she looked so tired. It
was in answer to his look, for he uttered no word, that she said:
“I am very tired; it has been hard work, I assure you.”
For a few moments he held her hand, and looked anxiously into her
face. Then a bright thought seemed to strike him, and he led her to
one of the chairs which had been piled up at the back, disencumbered
it of various “properties” which had been thrown upon it, and drew it
forward, inviting her to be seated. But she shook her head.
“I have too much to do,” she said.
Again he seemed to understand, for he shook his head, took gently
from her hands the curtains she had been folding, and again invited
her, this time with a gesture more emphatic than before, to take the
chair he had brought. She had lost all fear of him, and without giving
him any further answer than a little smile and bend of the head in
acquiescence, she sat down with a sigh. It struck her, even at that
moment, as being rather curious that she should feel more at her ease,
and more in sympathy with this afflicted recluse even than with her
own mother. As this idea flitted through her mind she looked up, and
became conscious of a look on Mr. Richard’s face which sent a thrill
through her, whether of pleasure or pain she scarcely knew. All that
she was sure of was that the glimpse that she caught before she cast
her eyes hastily down again, was of the handsomest face she had ever
seen. No eyes at once so bright and so tender, no mouth so firmly
closed, and yet so kindly, no profile so clean cut, had she ever seen
before. She had forgotten her work; she leaned back languidly in the
carved chair, resting, and conscious of a sensation, an indescribable
sensation of vivid excitement in which there was no fear. As for Mr.
Richard, he stood for a few minutes quite still, looking at her.
Then she felt his hand upon her arm, and looking up, saw that he was
impressing upon her, still by gesture only, that she was to remain
where she was, and that he was going away. Then he turned, leaped down
from the stage upon the floor of the barn, and made his way rapidly
through and over the rows of chairs and benches towards the door.
But Chris had felt so much soothed by his silent sympathy and
attentions, that she uttered a little cry, unwilling to let him leave
her. She was disappointed to find that he paid no heed, and the tears
came to her tired eyes. Tears caused chiefly by physical fatigue
they were, although it was this sudden desertion of her strange,
silent friend which had set them flowing. Once started, however, they
continued to flow for some minutes pretty freely, and she was still
drying her eyes disconsolately when Mr. Richard came back again.
And then the reason of his short absence was made plain. He held in his
hands a cup of tea.
Before he could reach the stage, Chris, quite as much ashamed as she
would have been if a person reputed sane had caught her in her act of
childish weakness, sprang up, and pretended to be again very busy. But
Mr. Richard’s intellect was evidently clear enough as far as she was
concerned, and he shook his head and smiled at her as he gently took
from her hands for the second time the “properties” she had hastily
snatched up.
She yielded even more meekly than before to his mute persuasions, sat
down again, and accepted the tea with genuine gratitude.
“How very kind of you! It is just what I have been wanting all the
afternoon,” she said.
To show that he understood--that he sympathised, he just patted her
hand two or three times. This was absolutely the only movement of his
which differed in any way from the conventional manners of a well-bred
man towards a lady.
When she had finished her tea, he gently took the cup from her, and,
commanding her with a gesture of gentle authority to remain where she
was, he set about the work on which she had been engaged on his first
appearance.
Under her directions he folded up curtains, examined tables, collected
weapons and other _bric-à-brac_, until there was nothing left for her
to do. From time to time, however, she saw him glance towards the door,
evidently watching for someone, and when at last the servant appeared
who had been sent to put the lights out, Mr. Richard slid quickly
behind the stage out of sight.
Chris was sorry that she had had no opportunity of bidding him
good-bye. She knew that he would not dare to come out in the presence
of the parlour-maid, and she had no excuse to make to remain behind
when the girl had put the lights out. All she could do was to make sure
that the barn door was left unlocked when they came out.
On the way across the meadow Chris took care to be left behind, though
she thought the girl looked at her curiously. She wanted to see that
Mr. Richard got safely out of his hiding-place, although from the
intelligence he had shown she had little doubt that he would do so.
Just as she was passing the copse of beeches and American oaks which
hid the stables from the house, he came up with her. As she turned
towards him with a start he held out his hand. As she had placed hers
within it, Chris was startled to hear Mr. Bradfield’s voice shouting
some order to one of the gardeners. He was standing at the bottom of
the flight of steps which led up to the house.
At first Mr. Richard did not appear to recognise his voice. But when
Chris started, and threw a frightened glance towards the house, he
followed the direction of her eyes, and saw as clearly as she did the
figure of Mr. Bradfield in the light thrown by the hall lamps through
the open door.
In an instant his whole aspect changed. The tender look in his eyes
gave place to an expression of the fiercest anger; his face seemed
transformed; he snatched his hand from hers, and uttering again the
wild sounds which had so much alarmed her on the first occasion of her
meeting him, he sprang away from Chris in the direction of the master
of Wyngham House.
But, quick as he was, Chris was quicker still. Having long since lost
all fear of Mr. Richard, and being anxious only to save him from the
pains and penalties he might draw down upon himself if Mr. Bradfield
should find out that he was at liberty, she sprang after the unhappy
man, and almost threw herself upon him. She was afraid to speak, lest
Mr. Bradfield, who had turned sharply at the wild cries uttered by the
young man, should recognise her voice and come to meet her. But she
pleaded by the touch of her hands, by the expression of her upturned
face, which he could see dimly in the darkness.
And she conquered. Under the touch of her hands his own clenched fists
fell to his sides, while his eyes regained their tenderness as he
looked at her. His feet faltered, and stopped.
Not until then did Chris grow afraid; not until she found that she was
resting on the arms of a young and handsome man, whose face was alight
with passion indeed, but with passion which was neither hatred nor fear.