BRIDE AND BRIDEGROOM
Even a short railway journey often has the effect of creating an
interval that means far longer than the actual lapse of time--a
honeymoon journey perhaps most of all, marking, as it does, the turning
point, the beginning of a new epoch in two young lives.
Therefore, by the time Roger and his bride arrived at Dover he had
not only recovered his equanimity, but the extraordinary events of
the morning, and even the grim and startling news he had learned at
the moment of departure had receded far away, like the remembrance of
an evil dream. The only thing that really mattered was the great and
wonderful fact that he and Grace were together, and would be henceforth
not only, as the beautiful words in which they had so lately plighted
their solemn troth declared, “till death us do part,” but, as all true
lovers hope and believe, together in spirit for all eternity--“out
beyond into the dream to come.”
The proud, tender, protective air with which he assisted Grace to
alight, the radiant happiness of their young faces, were instantly
“spotted” by the nearest porter, who bustled up in cheery anticipation
of a noble tip.
“Two cabin trunks, kit-bag, and two hat-boxes in the van--very
good, sir,” said he, taking possession of Grace’s dressing case and
travelling rugs. “What are they like? New?”
“Oh, no! quite old. We’ll point them out,” said Grace with demure
dignity, and shot an adorable glance at Roger as they followed the man,
threading their way through the crowd on the platform.
They had decided to avoid any brand-new appearance, fondly imagining
thereby that they would pass as an “old married couple”--as though any
such device could conceal their blissful state from even the least
observant of onlookers!
They halted behind an opulent-looking couple, the man smoking a huge
cigar, the lady shrilly claiming a whole pile of trunks as they were
bundled out of the van, and Grace, with a little gasp of dismay,
clutched Roger’s sleeve and drew him aside.
“Oh, look, Roger!” she whispered, “there are the Fosters, and they’re
putting up at the ‘Lord Warden’!”
“Well, what about it, darling?”
“We’re bound to meet them, and I do dislike them so and wouldn’t let
mother ask them to the wedding; we had quite a scene about it, and
Daddy backed me up. They _are_ such impossible people. It _will_ be so
awkward. Can’t we dodge them?”
“Of course we can--nothing easier. We’ll lie low till they clear off
and then go to the Grand.”
So they did, and once safe in the taxi laughed gaily over the narrow
escape, little imagining what a sinister significance would soon be
attached to their impulsive change of plan.
He waited in the lounge while Grace was upstairs unpacking and dinner
was being laid in the private sitting-room he had secured. As it
happened there were very few people staying in the hotel, and for the
moment he had the place to himself.
He ordered a whisky-and-soda, and with it the attendant brought an
evening paper.
“Just come down, sir. There’s been a horrible murder of a lady in
London.”
So it was impossible to escape from the tragedy that haunted him on
this, his wedding day.
He took the paper without comment, glanced at it, and laid it aside. It
was the same edition that George Winston had thrust into his hands at
Victoria. For a minute or more he sat in painful thought, then, leaving
his glass untouched, went through to the office and gave the Grosvenor
Gardens telephone number for a long-distance call.
“I’ll call you, sir; it may be some time getting through.”
“All right. I’ll be in the lounge.”
But within a couple of minutes the summons came, and, hastily finishing
his drink, he hurried to the booth.
Thomson’s voice sounded, civil, precise, distinct, as usual. At the
telephone as in most other respects Sir Robert’s trusted attendant was
admirable, unimpeachable.
“Hullo, Thomson! Carling speaking. I’ve just arrived at Dover and seen
the awful news. Where is Sir Robert?”
“In bed, sir, and still unconscious, though the doctors say that is all
the better under the circumstances. In fact, I believe he is under an
opiate. He had a sort of stroke, sir, when he heard--by telephone--of
her ladyship’s death.”
“How on earth did it happen--the--the murder I mean? I’ve only seen the
bare announcement.”
“In a ’phone booth, sir. If I may be permitted to state an opinion”
(agitated though he was, Roger smiled at the formal phraseology, so
entirely characteristic of old Thomson), “her ladyship was followed by
someone who imagined she had valuables in her bag--a large and very
handsome one--struck her down, and then finding those papers in it, and
not knowing how to get rid of them, just put them into a post box, so
then they came back to Sir Robert----”
“What! What papers?” Roger shouted into the transmitter, scarcely able
to believe he had heard aright. “Not those we were searching for this
morning?”
“The same, I understand, sir. They were delivered, surcharged, by
the five o’clock post, and as Lord Warrington happened to be here,
inquiring for Sir Robert, I made bold to give them to his lordship, who
has taken charge of them.”
“What wonderful, what incredible luck!” exclaimed Roger, forgetting for
the moment the grim central circumstance, and was ashamed next instant,
especially as Thomson’s voice sounded distinctly severe and shocked:
“I fear it cost her ladyship her life, sir.”
“You’re right, Thomson. The whole thing is too terrible, and I oughn’t
to have spoken like that. But it _is_ a relief to know that the papers,
at least, are safe. They are tremendously important. But, look
here, Thomson, is there anything I can do? I am terribly concerned
and anxious about Sir Robert. Do you think I ought to come back to
town to-morrow, or--or even to-night? I don’t _want_ to, of course,
and, if possible, I shall keep the news from--Mrs. Carling--till the
morning----”
There was a little pause--only a few seconds, though it seemed
longer--before Thomson replied:
“I don’t think it should be at all necessary, sir. I’m sure you can do
nothing for Sir Robert at present; the doctors do not anticipate any
immediate danger.”
“Well, I’ll ring you up in the morning then.”
“Very good, sir. I hope you will not consider it presumptuous of me
to express my deep regret that these terrible occurrences should have
marred your wedding day, and to convey my respectful wishes to you and
your good lady?”
“Presumptuous! Good Lord, no! It’s very kind of you, Thomson. Many
thanks,” said Roger, again smiling involuntarily. “Well, if Sir Robert
should ask for me, tell him you’re in touch with me.”
“I will, sir. Good night, sir.”
“Good night.”
Only after he had replaced the receiver did he remember that he had not
told Thomson where he was speaking from, but decided it wasn’t worth
while putting another call through. For to-night at least he would not
be wanted, and he would strive to dismiss the whole tragedy from his
mind. What a queer old stick Thomson was, but a good sort too! And
that astounding news of the recovery of the papers was very reassuring.
Now for Grace--his own, his beloved! He went up in the lift, and tapped
softly at the bedroom door. It opened instantly, and there she stood,
fresh and fair, in a simple evening gown of some filmy grey stuff, a
shy smile on her dear lips.
“Oh, what a tired and grubby boy!” she laughed. “He wants his dinner
very badly, he does, and I b’lieve I do too! As the king and queen are
travelling without attendants on this interesting occasion, the queen
(that’s me) has laid out your things, sir--your majesty, I mean--and
quite correctly I’m sure. I’ve done it so often for daddy. Now, don’t
be long!”
“I shan’t be ten minutes, darling,” Roger assured her, and was almost
as good as his word.
As charming a pair of lovers as could be found in the whole, wide
world they looked, as they sat facing each other at the daintily
appointed dinner-table, with the head waiter--a little apple-cheeked,
grey-haired, blue-eyed old man with an expansive smile--gliding in and
out and ministering to their wants with paternal solicitude. _He_ knew
well enough what was due to the occasion; those travel-worn trunks
hadn’t deceived him, any more than they had deceived the railway porter
or anyone else! And the flourish with which he presented the wine list
was mere pretence, for when, after a short discussion, they decided
on champagne, he didn’t even have to go to fetch it, but instantly
produced a magnum of the best, placed there, all ready, on the
sideboard.
Dinner over, they moved to the big chesterfield drawn up before the
blazing fire, and sat down in discreet silence till the table was
cleared and the beneficent waiter finally departed.
“At last!” said Roger, throwing his half-smoked cigarette into the
fire, and drawing his wife to him. “Isn’t this cosy and jolly, darling?”
“Lovely,” Grace murmured, snuggling happily in his arm. “Almost as good
as our own home’s going to be. Don’t you wish we were there already,
Roger, sitting in front of our very own fire?”
“I don’t wish for anything better in the world than to have you beside
me, sweetheart,” he responded.
The little silence that followed, of sheer peace and content, was
disturbed by a fierce onslaught of hail on the window-panes, and a
blast of wind that swept and shrieked round the building like a legion
of lost souls.
“My word, hark at that! It’s going to be a wild night,” said Roger. “No
crossing for us to-morrow if it’s like this. Why, you’re shivering,
dearest. Cold?”
“No, it’s only that dreadful wail of the wind. When I was a little girl
my nurse used to tell me it was the souls of drowned sailors shrieking,
and I believed her, for years and years.... God guard all who are on
the sea to-night!”
The words, uttered in a fervent whisper, were a real and fervent
prayer. He knew that as he looked down lovingly at her sweet,
thoughtful face.
“D’you know, Roger,” she resumed presently, “I’m not sure that I want
to go to Nice, or anywhere else abroad, after all.”
“Why, then, we won’t! The queen shall do exactly as she likes. I’m not
a bit keen on a smart place either, only----”
Grace looked up with a little whimsical smile in which there was a
touch of pathos.
“Only mother said we were to--that it was ‘the proper thing’--and it
was less trouble to agree with her than to argue the point. That’s the
real trouble, isn’t it? And, after all, we haven’t had a quiet moment
to discuss anything between ourselves for weeks and weeks, what with
mother and dressmakers on my side, and Sir Robert keeping you so hard
at work on yours, right up to the last moment too, upsetting us all so,
and nearly making you too late to be married! Tiresome old gentleman!”
“It wasn’t his fault,” said Roger hastily. “But don’t let us think any
more of that. We’re free to please ourselves now--go where we like and
do what we like. So what shall we do? Stay here?”
“No. I’ve been thinking. Really it flashed into my mind while I was
dressing and waiting for you before dinner. There’s such a dear little
place quite close here--St. Margaret’s--where daddy and I stayed when
he was getting over influenza, just after Armistice--this very same
time of year, when you were still in France, you poor boy! We had the
loveliest time, all by ourselves. Mother wouldn’t come; she said it
would be too deadly in the winter, but it wasn’t--not for us, anyhow!
And we had the cosiest rooms imaginable in a dinky cottage on the
cliff, a regular sun-trap, with a dear old landlady, Miss Culpepper,
who reminded us of ‘Cranford’ and cherished us both no end. Let’s go
over and see if she’s still there and can put us up. I expect she can,
for I remember we seemed to have the whole place to ourselves.”
“Topping!” Roger agreed heartily, as he would have done if she had
proposed to start on an expedition to Timbuctoo. “And, I say, darling,
I’ll try to get a car just for the time we’re down here, and we’ll have
some jolly runs.”
“Splendid! But won’t that cost a lot?”
“Why, bless your careful little heart, think of all the money we shall
save by scrapping that continental trip! It’s a simply ripping idea!”
“I wonder what mother will say when she knows?” laughed Grace. “I
shan’t say a word to her about it when I write to her to-morrow; she’ll
think we’re travelling; so will every one else for a week or two, for
we won’t own up till they might be getting anxious, except perhaps to
daddy and Winnie, and they’ll keep counsel all right. What fun it will
be!”