AT THE CHESTNUTS.
Mrs. Barraclough was one of those old ladies who are constantly being
surprised. She courted surprise. She never forestalled a climax and
of the hundreds of sensational novels which she so greedily devoured
never once was she guilty of taking a premature peep at the last
chapter to ensure herself that right would triumph. "I shall find out
all about it in good time" was the motto she affected. This being so
she made no effort to secure Isabel's confidence but simply waited for
Isabel to speak. The same reticence possessed her in the matter of the
four mysterious serving girls. She hadn't the smallest idea why
Anthony had suddenly transformed himself into a domestic agency
although, at the back of her head, she guessed at a deep underlying
motive. It gratified her beyond measure to be surrounded by unfathomed
waters and frequently as a corollary to her prayers she would thank God
for the little excitements and mysteries He sent to flavour her
declining years.
After the uncontrollable rush of tears on her arrival Isabel pulled
herself together and made a show of gaiety and preserved it nobly for
nearly three weeks. Anthony had gone and gloomy forebodings were of no
service. Accordingly she helped Mrs. Barraclough in the garden and
made the very best friends of the four girls. Perhaps she was the
least bit resentful on finding out that they knew almost as much of
Anthony's plans as she herself.
"But did he tell you?" she asked in surprise.
"It's like this," said Flora who generally spoke for the company.
"Jane and myself were with him in the Secret Service during the last
year of the war."
"He got us the job," Jane interpolated. She was a big, bonny girl with
broad shoulders, steady blue eyes and a complexion that would have
advertised any health resort. "Cook kicks herself that she wasn't in
that show."
It was at this point Mrs. Barraclough came into the room.
"Kicks herself! What a very unbecoming expression, Jane."
"Sorry, madam," said Jane and she and Flora sniggered uncontrollably.
"You girls perplex me greatly," said Mrs. Barraclough. "You do not
laugh in the least like ordinary servants."
"How do ordinary servants laugh?" Jane asked.
"Generally speaking, in a high note that echoes distressingly
throughout the house, whereas you laugh like young ladies."
"Oh, you old darling," exclaimed Flora with sudden impulsiveness. "I
suppose if a decent education and upbringing counts for anything that's
just what we are."
Mrs. Barraclough sat down rather abruptly on a small upright sofa in
the centre of the room.
"Then for goodness sake tell me what you are doing in my kitchen."
There was no escaping the explanation especially when Isabel
contributed:
"Come on, Flora, out with it."
"It's this way, madam. Lots of us went broke after the war--lots of us
who'd only fifty quid a year to live on."
"Quid?" said Mrs. Barraclough. "Isn't that something to do with
sailors and tobacco?"
"Pounds, then. We ran across Mr. Anthony out in France."
"Picked him out of a ditch near Arras with a bullet through his foot,"
Jane contributed.
"And after that got most awfully friendly and kept knocking up against
each other."
Mrs. Barraclough shook her head.
"It must have been very painful for him with a bullet through his foot."
"When he heard we'd gone broke he said--just like him--'my mother's a
sport, go and look after her.'"
"So I'm a sport," said Mrs. Barraclough with a smile. "But even so,
why should I want looking after?"
"That's what puzzles me," said Isabel.
Jane and Flora exchanged glances.
"I don't know whether we ought to," said Jane.
"He's my fiancé," said Isabel, "and you're jolly well not going to keep
me in the dark."
"And quite incidentally," Mrs. Barraclough remarked, "he's my son."
"Oh, very well," said Flora. "It seems he was all over some great big,
get rich quick scheme--and there was a chance anyone connected with him
might be got at."
"Got at!" Mrs. Barraclough's dark eyes opened a little wider.
"Um! A tough crowd was up against him you see."
"I see." The old lady nodded gravely but there was a sparkle of
excitement in her expression. "So you and Jane and Cynthia and Agnes
are here to protect me against the assaults of--of a 'tough crowd.'"
"We're here if we're wanted," said Jane robustly.
"And somehow," said Flora, "I think we shall be wanted."
Mrs. Barraclough's hands went out and she drew the two girls a little
closer.
"My dears," she said, "I don't know why but lately I've had a pringly
sort of feeling--as if something were going to happen. It's a sense of
adventure perhaps. I used to be a very wild girl myself."
"But you mustn't worry," said Isabel. "It's sure to turn out all
right, you know."
"I'm not worrying. I'm only hoping that if anything does happen I
shall be in it."
"But look here," exclaimed Flora, "that's the very thing he wants to
prevent."
"Yes, yes, but I know my Anthony, bless him. It would be so beautiful
to help him again after all these years." She smiled retrospectively.
"When he was a little boy he was always coming into conflict with his
father. Poor Mr. Barraclough, he was a very austere man and Anthony's
scrapes inspired from him the severest judgments. Tony had a little
signal--he was much too proud to speak--he used to take out his pocket
handkerchief and quite carelessly tie a knot in the centre. Whenever
he did that I used to come to his aid. Dear Tony, I was always the one
to rescue him from difficulty."
"He gets his pluck from you," said Flora.
"His father was a brave man too, until he had a little misfortune with
a mule which rather upset his balance."
"Generally does," Isabel laughed.
"Mental balance," Mrs. Barraclough corrected. "For the last few years
of his life he thought he was Archbishop of Canterbury and if dead
people think I'm sure he believes he is buried in Westminster Abbey.
There, run along, my dears, and leave me to collect my thoughts."
But she kissed Flora and Jane before letting them go. Isabel stayed in
the room.
"So my boy is in danger," said Mrs. Barraclough with the least touch of
tragedy in her voice. Isabel came forward and put an arm around her
neck. "You knew, my dear?"
Isabel nodded.
"They oughtn't to have told you."
Mrs. Barraclough snorted defiantly.
"Stuff and nonsense. Think I hadn't guessed? After all, a proper man
ought to be in danger. Besides," she added, "he's a good enough
reason, hasn't he?"
"What reason?"
"Doesn't he want to marry you?"
"I know," said Isabel forlornly, "but that would have happened in any
case."
"Don't you be too sure, my dear. Now I'm going to let you into my
confidence--mind I'm only putting two and two together but I'm pretty
sure I've got the total right. Did you know that Tony had put every
penny he possessed into this enterprise?"
Isabel started.
"No. What makes you believe that?"
"Because all I've got is in it too, and he would never ask of me what
he feared to do himself."
"Then you know all about it?"
"Hardly anything."
"But he oughtn't----"
"I think the risks and dangers came afterward."
"Even so," said Isabel, "it's just for money. That's what I hate so."
"Isn't it just for you," said Mrs. Barraclough gently. "Just because
if he failed he wouldn't be able to make you his wife."
"He never told me."
"Of course he didn't. How could he?"
"Are you sure of all this?"
"Practically certain. You see his Uncle Arthur is executor of Tony's
affairs. Executors are not supposed to speak but Uncle Arthur was an
exception who proves the rule."
"For me," said Isabel slowly. "For our marriage--for us. Oh, I'm so
glad it wasn't for cash." A cloud came over her brow. "But it makes
it frightfully difficult for me supposing I had to----"
"What?"
"I mustn't say--even to you."
Mrs. Barraclough didn't press for an answer. She was pleased there was
a little bit of mystery left over.
Isabel kissed the old lady very tenderly and walked out into the rose
garden by herself. There was a glow on her cheeks almost as pink as
the roses themselves. It was a sweet relief that Anthony had gone into
these dangers more for her sake than any other reason and that their
happiness and future rested on his success. In her twenty-one years of
life she had come too much into contact with men whose ruling passion
was the dollar to the exclusion of all else. At the back of her head
the fear had haunted her that Anthony had been bitten by the money
bug--the hateful contagion that straightened and thinned the lips,
chilled the emotions and case-hardened the kindliest natures. But now
that fear was gone to be replaced with glad assurance.
On a semi-circular stone bench that backed the roadside hedge Isabel
sat and hugged her knees and here a few moments later she was joined by
Flora.
"He's a topper, your man," said Flora. "A downright first rater."
Isabel grinned an acknowledgment.
"Did he have any trouble in getting away?"
"Awful, I believe, but--but they had a plan which he said would make it
easy."
On the road side of the hedge, barely three feet away, a clergyman, who
apparently was seeking protection from the sun, moved sharply and
cocked a listening ear.
"What plan?"
"He didn't tell me that and anyhow I shouldn't be allowed to repeat it."
The listening clergyman looked disappointed.
"Do you know what he was going after?"
"Yes, I know."
"Wouldn't care to tell anyone, I s'pose. I'm as safe as a house."
"I'm certain you are, only----"
"Oh, well, it doesn't matter so long as he got away all right. He did
get away all right, didn't he?"
"Yes, I--I think so--he must have or his servant, Doran, would have
told me."
Harrison Smith, on the far side of the hedge, pushed back his clerical
hat and frowned deeply.
"And you had no message?"
Isabel shook her head.
"None. So I just tell myself everything is all right."
"Oh, I'm sure it is--certain," said Flora ecstatically. "It's bound to
be. Mr. Anthony'd never let himself be beaten by any crowd." She
paused. "If only one could be in it--but nothing ever happens down
here. Are you staying much longer?"
"Going back tomorrow or the next day. I must be in Town on the night
of the 18th."
"That the day he's expected?"
"Yes, at eleven o'clock."
"Wish I could be there to give him a cheer when he comes in."
Isabel slipped an arm through Flora's.
"It's great of you to be so keen," she said.
"Think so," Flora replied. "Jolly sporting of you not to mind. We've
got a bit of a 'pash' on Mr. Anthony, you know."
"I thought you had," said Isabel sympathetically.
"Kind of hero worship it is. Nothing to bother about 'cos as matter of
fact we're all engaged--'cept Cook who hates men. But even Cook can't
help admiring him. Be a sport and let us know if he gets through all
right. You could 'phone."
"I will."
"Any notion which port he'll arrive at?"
"Couldn't say. I've a sort of idea that it might be one of the little
Cornish fishing villages."
"What makes you think so?"
"No particular reason only----"
"Yes, go on--be a pal."
"You won't repeat it?"
"No fear."
"There was a West Country guide book on his table one day and I
happened to glance at it."
"Um."
"Ever heard of Polperro?"
"Yes."
"On one of the maps Polperro had a pencil line ringed round it and a
couple of very small dots marked in certain places."
"That might have been years old."
"It wasn't. I had lent him a blue pencil a few days before--rather a
funny colour it was. He'd used that pencil."
"You're a bit of a Sherlock."
"I oughtn't to have said anything about it."
"It's safe enough with me," said Flora. "You can bet your boots I
shan't blab."
A silvery toned bell sounded from the house.
"There's tea," said Isabel.
The two girls rose and moved away arm in arm.
Mr. Harrison Smith pulled out his watch and looked at the dial.
"With luck I can catch it," said he.
And through the drawing room window Mrs. Barraclough saw the unusual
spectacle of a clergyman running like fury in the direction of the
railway station. As she remarked a few moments later:
"This is indeed an age of speed. Even the delivery of the Gospel is
conducted by express service."