SMOKE FROM THE FIRE
"It always used to be regarded as anything but a model State," smiled
Major Hunt-Goring, as he lay in a long chair and watched Daisy's busy
fingers at work on a frock for Peggy. "I suppose our friend Nicholas
Ratcliffe has changed all that, however. A queer little genius--Nick."
"He is my husband's and my greatest friend," said Daisy.
"Really!" Hunt-Goring laughed silkily. "Do you know, Mrs. Musgrave,
that's the fifth time you have mentioned your husband in as many
minutes? If I remember aright, he used not to be so often on your lips."
Daisy glanced up momentarily. "And now," she said, "he is never out of
my thoughts."
"Really!" Hunt-Goring said again. He looked at her very attentively for
a few seconds before he relaxed again with eyes half-closed. "That is
_très convenant_ for you both," he observed. "I enjoy the unusual
spectacle of a wife who is happy as well as virtuous."
Daisy stitched on in silence. Privately she wondered how she had ever
come to be on intimate terms with the man, and condemned afresh the
follies of her youth.
"Have you been Home since I had the pleasure of your society at
Mahalaleshwar I will not say how many years ago?" asked Hunt-Goring,
after a pause.
"I went Home the following year," said Daisy. "We thought--we hoped--it
would make our baby boy more robust to have a summer in England."
"Oh, have you a boy?" said Hunt-Goring, without much interest.
"He died," said Daisy briefly.
Hunt-Goring looked bored, and the conversation languished.
Into the silence came Peggy, fairy-footed, gay of mien. She flung
impulsive arms around her mother's neck and pressed a soft cheek
coaxingly to hers.
"Mummy, Noel is comin' to teach me to ride this morning. I may go,
mayn't I?"
"My darling!" said Daisy, in consternation. "He never said anything to
me about it."
Peggy laughed, nodding her fair head with saucy assurance. "He promised,
Mummy."
"But, dearie," protested Daisy, "you can't ride Noel's horse. You'd be
frightened, and so would Mummy."
Peggy laughed again, the triumphant laugh of one who possesses private
information. "Noel wouldn't let me be frightened," she said, with
confidence.
"Who is Noel?" asked Hunt-Goring.
Peggy looked at him. She was not quite sure that she liked this friend
of her mother's, and her look said as much. "Noel is an officer," she
said proudly. "He's the pwettiest officer in the Regiment, and I love
him."
"Ha!" Hunt-Goring laughed. "You inherit your mother's tastes, my child."
He looked across at Daisy. "She always preferred the pretty ones."
"I know better now," said Daisy, without returning his look.
He laughed again and stretched himself. "What became of that handsome
cousin of yours who paid you a visit in the old M'war days?"
"Do you mean Blake Grange?" Daisy's voice suddenly sounded so remote
and cold that Peggy turned and regarded her in round-eyed astonishment.
"Yes, that was the fellow. He got trapped at Wara along with General
Roscoe and Nick Ratcliffe. What happened to him? Was he killed?"
"No, not then." Slowly Daisy lifted her eyes; slowly she spoke. "He gave
his life in England the following year to save some shipwrecked
sailors."
"Did he, though? Quite a hero!" Hunt-Goring's eyes met hers and
insolently held them. "Were you present at the sacrifice?"
"Yes," she answered him briefly, but there was tragedy in her eyes.
"Ah!" said Hunt-Goring softly. "That made a difference to you."
She did not answer; she leaned her cheek against Peggy's fair head in
silence.
"My dear lady," said Hunt-Goring, "you always took things too
seriously."
She gave a brief sigh, and took up her work again. "Life is rather a
serious matter, I find," she said, with a smile that was scarcely gay.
"Nonsense!" said Hunt-Goring.
"Don't you find it so?" Daisy did not look up again; she stitched on
rapidly with the child leaning against her knee.
"I?" he said. "Oh, sometimes it seems so, when things don't fit. But I
don't care, you know. I have a volatile mind, I am glad to say."
"Are you never afraid of growing old?" asked Daisy.
He laughed his soft, self-satisfied laugh. "Oh, really, you know, I
don't think they will let me do that at present."
"You never think of getting married?" asked Daisy.
Hunt-Goring's smile changed a little, grew subtly harder. "Most people
think of it at one time or another." he observed. "But personally I do
not regard myself as a marrying man."
"And you are never lonely?" she said.
"I am seldom alone, my dear Mrs. Musgrave," he said.
She turned the conversation. "Where have you been living since your
retirement?"
"I took a place in England in the hunting-country--quite a decent
place."
"Ah? Where?"
"About two miles from a little town called Weir." Hunt-Goring spoke
deliberately, still watching his hostess's slim fingers at work.
"Why!" Swiftly Daisy looked up. "That is where the Ratcliffes live--Jim
Ratcliffe and Olga. Olga is out here now with Nick. Did you know?"
Hunt-Goring nodded to each sentence. "I know it all. I know Jim
Ratcliffe, and a burly old monster he is. I know Nick of Redlands--also
the sedate Mrs. Nick. And, last but not least, I know--Olga."
He spoke mockingly; his look was derisive.
"I had no idea you had been living there," said Daisy.
"I was the hornet in the hive," said Hunt-Goring with his lazy laugh.
"It's rather a hole of a place, though I liked The Warren well enough.
I'm not going back there. You can tell Olga so with my love."
"She and Nick are dining here to-night," observed Daisy, "so you will be
able to tell her yourself."
"What! To meet me!" It was Hunt-Goring's turn to look surprised. He did
so with an accompanying sneer. "How did you describe me, I wonder? You
couldn't have mentioned my name."
Daisy regarded him steadily for a moment. "Is there any reason why she
should not meet you?" she asked.
"None whatever," said Hunt-Goring, with a shrug. "Needless to say, I
shall be quite charmed to meet her."
At this point the conversation was interrupted by the sudden appearance
of Noel. He came out through the French window of the drawing-room with
his habitual air of cheery assurance, and was instantly pounced upon by
Peggy who hailed him with delight.
He caught her up in his arms. "Well, little sweetheart, are we going for
our ride? What does Mummy say?" He laughed down at Daisy, the child
mounted high on his shoulder.
Daisy laughed back because she could not help it. "Oh, Noel, you are
incorrigible! I don't think I dare trust her to you. Why do you suggest
these headlong things?"
"But, my dear Mrs. Musgrave," he protested, "does any harm ever come to
her when she is with me? You know I would guard her with my life!"
"Yes, I know," smiled Daisy. "But I am not sure that that would be a
very great safe-guard. You are so reckless yourself. By the way, let me
introduce Major Hunt-Goring--an old friend. Major Hunt-Goring--Mr.
Wyndham!"
Noel nodded careless acknowledgment. Hunt-Goring merely lifted his brows
momentarily. He did not greatly care for the boy's familiarity with his
hostess. It was a privilege which he did not wish to share.
"Well, shall we start?" said Noel. "I've brought one of my polo mounts
for Peggy," he added to Daisy. "You know the Chimpanzee. He's as quiet
as a lamb. Come and give us a send-off! Really you needn't be anxious."
He patted her arm coaxingly, reassuringly, and Hunt-Goring took out his
cigarette-case. He was plainly bored to extinction.
Daisy left him with a smiling apology. She did not suggest that he
should accompany them, and he did not offer to do so.
"I don't like that man," declared Peggy as Noel bore her away. "He looks
so ugly when he smiles."
"Only the Daisies and Peggies of this world manage to look pretty
always," observed Noel gallantly.
For which dainty compliment Daisy frowned upon him. "My vanity days are
over," she said, "but do remember that hers are yet to come!"
They went round to the front of the bungalow where Noel had left the
mounts; and after a good deal of discussion and many injunctions Peggy
was, to her huge delight, perched astride the Chimpanzee, a creature of
almost human intelligence who plainly took a serious view of his
responsibilities, to Daisy's immense relief.
She watched them ride away together at length at a walking pace, Noel on
his tall Waler leading the polo-pony, from whose back Peggy waved her an
ardent farewell; and finally went back to her guest feeling reassured.
Noel evidently had no intention of taking any risks with Peggy in his
charge.
"It's very good of him," she remarked, as she sat down again on the
verandah.
Hunt-Goring opened his eyes a quarter of an inch. "I beg your pardon?"
"Oh, nothing," said Daisy, feeling slightly annoyed. "He's a nice boy,
that's all; and I am grateful to him for being so kind to my little
Peggy."
"It probably answers his purpose," said Hunt-Goring, smothering a yawn.
Daisy took up her work again in silence.
Hunt-Goring finished his cigarette in dreamy ease before he spoke again.
She thought he was half-asleep when unexpectedly he accosted her,
referring to the subject in which he had seemed to take but slight
interest.
"Did you say that puppy's name was Wyndham?"
"He isn't a puppy," said Daisy, quick to defend her friend.
He smiled his tolerant amusement. "My dear little woman, that wasn't
the point of my enquiry."
Daisy stiffened. She suddenly began to sew very fast indeed, without
speaking. Her pretty lips were compressed, but Hunt-Goring seemed
sublimely unconscious of the fact. He smiled to himself as at some
inward thought.
"You did say his name was Wyndham, I think?" he said, after a moment.
"I did," said Daisy.
"There was a fellow of the same name who lived at Weir," observed
Hunt-Goring. "He was the doctor's assistant; had to leave in something
of a hurry, I believe. There was the beginning of a scandal, but it was
hushed up--strangled at birth, so to speak."
"What?" said Daisy. She looked across at him swiftly, her dignity and
work alike forgotten.
Hunt-Goring still smiled placidly. "I daresay it might be described as a
regrettable incident. It concerned the sudden death of a young girl at
which event the said Dr. Wyndham presided. I really shouldn't have
mentioned it if it hadn't been for the familiarity of the name."
"They are brothers," said Daisy.
"Really! That is strange." Again Hunt-Goring barely concealed a yawn.
"Olga Ratcliffe used to be somewhat smitten with the young man in what I
might call her calf days. Doubtless she has got over that by now,
especially as the girl who died was a friend of hers."
"But she can't know of that!" said Daisy quickly. "She has been very
ill, you know--an illness brought on by the shock of it all."
"Indeed!" said Hunt-Goring, and became significantly silent.
Daisy continued to look at him. "She has not got over it," she said
slowly at length, speaking as though uttering her thoughts aloud. "He
is out here now, arrived only last week. And--they are engaged to be
married."
"_Chacun à son goût!_" observed Hunt-Goring.
She made a sharp movement of impatience. "Oh, don't be so cold-blooded!
Tell me--do tell me--the whole story!"
"My dear Daisy," said Hunt-Goring daringly, "there is practically
nothing more to tell."
"But there must be," Daisy argued, ignoring side-issues. "How did the
gossip arise? There is never smoke without some fire."
"True," said Hunt-Goring. "But for the truth of the gossip I will not
vouch. It ran in this wise. The girl was beautiful--and gay. The
man--well, you have had some experience of the species; you know what
they are. Trouble arose; there was madness in the girl's family. She
became demented; and a certain magic draught did the rest. It was risky
of course; but it was a choice of evils. He chose the surest means of
protecting his reputation--which, I believe, is considered valuable in
his profession."
"Oh, it isn't possible!" protested Daisy. "It simply can't be. How did
you hear all this?"
Hunt-Goring laughed. "How does one ever hear anything? I told you I
didn't vouch for the truth of it."
"I wonder what I ought to do," said Daisy.
"Do?" He looked at her. "What do you contemplate doing? Is it up to you
to do anything?"
Daisy scarcely saw or heard him. "I am thinking of little Olga. She is
engaged to him. She--can't know of this evil tale."
"She probably does," said Hunt-Goring. "They were very intimate--she and
Violet Campion."
"It isn't possible," Daisy said again. "Why, I believe she was actually
with the poor girl when she died. Nick told me a little. He said it had
been very sudden and a severe shock to her."
"I should say it was," said Hunt-Goring.
She looked at him. "You were there at the time?"
"I was at The Warren--yes." He spoke with an easy air of unconcern.
Daisy leaned towards him. "And Nick--do you think Nick knew?"
Hunt-Goring looked straight back at her. "I think," he said
deliberately, "that I should scarcely trouble to tackle Nick on the
subject. He knows exactly what it suits him to know."
"What do you mean?" Daisy spoke sharply, nervously.
"Merely that he and the young man are--and always have been--hand and
glove," explained Hunt-Goring smoothly. "Nick is a very charming person
no doubt, but--"
"Be careful!" warned Daisy.
He made her a smiling bow. "But," he repeated with emphasis, "he is not
sentimentally particular in a matter of ethics. He looks to the end
rather than the means. Also you must remember he is a man and not a
woman. A man's outlook is different."
"Do you mean that Nick would overlook a thing of this kind?" asked
Daisy.
Hunt-Goring nodded thoughtfully. "I think he would condone many things
that you would regard as inexcusable, even monstrous. Otherwise, he
would scarcely have been selected for his present job."
Daisy was silent.
"And you must remember," Hunt-Goring proceeded, "that this young Wyndham
is a rising man--a desirable _parti_ for any girl. He will probably
never make another blunder of that description. It is too risky,
especially for a man who means to climb to the top of the tree."
"You really think it possible then that Nick knows?" Daisy still looked
doubtful.
"I think it more than possible." Hunt-Goring spoke with confidence. "I
am sorry if it shocks you, but, you know, he is really too shrewd a
person not to know current gossip and its origin."
This was a straight shot, and it told. Daisy acknowledged it without
argument.
"But Olga!" she said. "Olga can't know."
"Perhaps not," admitted Hunt-Goring. "And--in that case--it would be
advisable to leave her in ignorance; would it not?"
He took out another cigarette with the words, flinging her a sidelong
glance as he did it.
But Daisy was silent, looking straight before her.
"Surely," said Hunt-Goring, through a cloud of aromatic smoke, "whether
there is anything in the tale or not, the fewer that know of it--the
better."
"Oh, I don't know." Daisy spoke as if compelled. "No woman ought to be
married blindfold. It is too great a risk."
Hunt-Goring leaned back again in his chair. "If I were in your place, I
should maintain a discreet silence," he said.
"I don't think you would," said Daisy.
He inhaled a long breath of smoke. "If I didn't, I should approach the
girl herself--find out what she knows--and, with great discretion, put
her on her guard. I don't think you would gain much by opening up the
matter in any other quarter."
"You mean it would be no good to discuss it with Nick?" said Daisy.
Hunt-Goring looked at the end of his cigarette. "Perhaps I do mean
that," he said. "He would probably prevent it coming to Olga's knowledge
if he had set his heart on the match."
"He couldn't prevent my telling her," said Daisy quickly.
"No?" Hunt-Goring gave utterance to his silky laugh. "Well," he said,
"my experience of Nick Ratcliffe is not a very extensive one; but I
should certainly say that he knows how to get his own way in most
things. Perhaps you have never come into collision with him?"
Daisy coloured suddenly, and was silent.
Hunt-Goring laughed again. "You see my point, I perceive," he remarked.
"Well, I leave the matter in your hands, but--if you really wish to warn
the girl, I should not warn Nick Ratcliffe first."
He spoke impressively, notwithstanding his laugh. And Daisy accepted his
advice in silence.
Much as she loved Nick, she knew but too well how a struggle with him
would end, and she shrank from risking a conflict. Besides, there was
Olga to be thought of. She resumed her sewing with a puckered brow.
Certainly Olga must be warned.
There might be no truth in the story, but then rumours of that
description never started themselves. And Max Wyndham--well she had been
prejudiced against him from the beginning in spite of the fact that Nick
was all in his favour. He was ruthless and unscrupulous; she was sure of
it. How he had ever managed to win Olga was a perpetual puzzle to her.
Perhaps he really was magnetic, as Nick had said. But she believed it to
be an evil magnetism. As a lover, he was the coolest she had ever seen.
"Altogether objectionable," had been her verdict from the outset.
And now came this monstrous tale to confirm her previous opinion.
Impulsively Daisy decided that Olga must not be left in ignorance.
Marriage was too great a speculation for any risk of that kind to be
justifiable. She felt she owed it to the girl to warn her--to save her
from a possible life-long misery. These things had such a ghastly knack
of turning up afterwards. And Olga was so young, so trusting--
"Are you going to take my advice?" asked Hunt-Goring.
She looked up with a start. "What advice?"
"As to maintaining a discreet silence," he said.
His eyes were half-closed; she could not detect the narrowness of his
scrutiny.
"No," she answered. "I shall certainly speak to Olga. It wouldn't be
right--it wouldn't be fair--not to do so." Her look was suddenly
appealing. "There is a free-masonry among women as well as men," she
said. "We must keep faith with one another at least."
Hunt-Goring closed his eyes completely, and smiled a placid smile. "Dear
Mrs. Musgrave," he said, "you are a true woman."
And she did not hear the note of exultation below the lazy appreciation
of his words.