The Moon out of Reach

by Margaret Pedler

  CHAPTER XXIV

  FLIGHT!

  The big limousine was already at the door when Lady Gertrude andIsobel, clothed from head to foot in sombre black, descended from theirrespective rooms. Roger, also clad in the same funereal hue andwearing a black tie--and looking as though his garments afforded himthe acme of mental discomfort--stood waiting for them, together withNan, in the hall.

  Lady Gertrude bestowed one of her chilly kisses upon her son's fianceeand stepped into the car, Isobel followed, and Roger, with a muttered:"Confound Great-aunt Rachel's fortune!" brought up the rear. A minutelater the car and its black-garbed occupants disappeared down the drive.

  Nan turned back into the house. There was a curiously lightenedfeeling in the atmosphere, she thought--as though someone had liftedthe roof of a dungeon and let in the sunlight and fresh air. Shestretched her arms luxuriously above her head and exhaled a long sighof relief. Then, running like a child let out of school, she fled downthe long hall to the telephone stand. Lifting the receiver, herfingers fairly danced upon the forked clip which had held it.

  Her imperative summons was answered with a most unusual promptness bythe exchange--it was going to be a lucky day altogether, she toldherself. Demanding, "Trunks, please!" she gave the number of theEdenhall flat and prepared to possess her soul in patience till hercall came through.

  At lunch she was almost too excited to eat, and when finally Morton,entering quietly, announced: "You are wanted on the telephone, miss,"she hardly waited to hear the end of the sentence but flew past him tothe telephone stand and snatched up the instrument.

  "Hello! Hello! That you, Penny? . . . Yes, of _course_ it's Nan!Oh, my dear, I'm so glad you're back! Listen. I want to run up totown for a few days. . . . Yes. Roger's away. They're allaway. . . . You can put me up? To-morrow? Thanks awfully,Penny. . . . Yes, Waterloo. At 4.16. Good-bye. Give my love toRalph. . . . Good-bye."

  She hung up the receiver and, returning to the dining-room, made apretence of finishing her lunch. Afterwards, with as much composure asshe could muster up--seeing that she wanted to dance and sing out ofpure happiness--she informed Morton that she had been called awaysuddenly to London and would require the car early the next morning totake her to the station. Whatever curiosity Morton may have feltconcerning this unexpected announcement, he concealed it admirably,merely replying with his usual imperturbability: "Very good, miss."

  "I'm leaving a letter for Mr. Trenby--to explain. See that he has itas soon as he gets back to-morrow."

  And once again Morton answered respectfully:

  "Very good, miss."

  The writing of the letter did not occupy much time. She reflected thatshe must take one of two courses. Either she must write him at length,explaining everything--and somehow she felt it would be impossible toexplain to Roger her desperate need for flight, for a respite fromthings as they were--or she must leave a brief note merely stating thatshe had gone away. She decided on the latter and after severalabortive attempts, which found their ultimate fate in the fire, sheachieved the following telegraphic epistle:

  "DEAR ROGER,--Have gone to town. Stopping with Penelope.--NAN."

  Afterwards she packed with gleeful hands. It seemed too good to betrue that in twenty-four hours she would actually find herself back inLondon--away from this gloomy, tree-girdled house with its depressingatmosphere both outside and in, away from Lady Gertrude's scathingtongue and Isobel's two-edged speeches, and, above all, secure for atime from Roger's tumultuous love-making and his unuttered demand forso much more than she could ever give him.

  She craved for the rush and bustle of London, for the play that mightkeep her from thinking, the music which should minister to her soul,and, more than all, she longed to see the beloved familiar faces--tosee Penelope and Ralph and Lord St. John. She felt as though for thelast three months she had been dwelling in some dreadful unknown world,with only boy Sandy to cling to out of the whole unnerving chaos.

  * * * * * *

  "You blessed child! I _am_ glad to see you!"

  Penelope, looking the happiest and most blooming of youthful matrons,was on the platform when the Cornish express steamed into Waterloostation and Nan alighted from it. The two girls embraced warmly.

  "You can't--you can't possibly be as glad as I am, Penny mine,"returned Nan. "Hmf!"--wrinkling up her nose. "_How_ nice Londonsmells!"

  Penelope burst out laughing. Nan nodded at her seriously.

  "I mean it. You've no idea how good that smoky, petrolly smell isafter the innocuous breezes of the country. It's full of gorgeoussuggestions of cars and people and theatres and--and life!"

  They hurried to the other end of the platform where the porters weredisinterring the luggage from the van and dumping it down on theplatform with a splendid disregard for the longevity of the varioustrunks and suit-cases they handled. Nan's attendant porter quicklyextricated her baggage from the motley pile, and very soon she andPenelope were speeding away from the station as fast as theirchauffeur--whose apparent recklessness was fortunately counter-balancedby consummate skill--could take them.

  "How nice and familiar it all looks," said Nan, as the car granted upthe Haymarket. "And it's heavenly to be going back to the dear oldflat. Whereabouts are you looking for a house, by the way?"

  "Somewhere in Hampstead, we think, where the air--and the rents!--aremore salubrious than nearer in."

  "Of course." Nan nodded. "All singers live at Hampstead. You'd bequite unfashionable if you didn't. I suppose you and Ralph arefrightfully busy?"

  "Yes. But we're free to-night, luckily. So we can yarn to our hearts'content. To-morrow evening we're both singing at the Albert Hall.And, oh, in the afternoon we're going to tea at Maryon's studio. Hisnew picture's on view--private, of course."

  "What new picture?"

  "His portrait of the famous American beauty, Mrs. T. Van Decken. Ibelieve she paid a fabulous sum for it; Maryon's all the rage now, youknow. So he asked us to come down and see it before it's shipped offto New York. By the way, he enquired after you in his letter--I've gotit with me somewhere. Oh, yes, here it is! He says: '_What news haveyou of Nan? I've lost sight of her since her engagement. But now itseems likely I shall be seeing her again before any of you_.' I can'tthink what he means by that."

  "Nor I," said Nan, somewhat mystified. "But anyway," she added,smiling, "he will be seeing me even sooner than he anticipates. Howhas his marriage turned out?"

  Penelope laughed.

  "Very much as one might have expected. They live most amicably--apart!"

  "They've surely not quarrelled already?"

  "Oh, no, they've not quarrelled. But of course they didn't fit intoeach other's scheme of life one bit, and they've re-arranged matters tosuit their own convenience. She's in the south of France just now, andwhen she comes to town they'll meet quite happily and visit at eachother's houses. She has a palatial sort of place in Mayfair, you know,while Maryon has a duck of a house in Westminster."

  "How very modern!" commented Nan, smiling. "And--how like Maryon!"

  "Just like him, isn't it? And"--drily--"it was just like him, too, tosee that the marriage settlement arrangements were all quitewater-tight. However, on the whole, it's a fair bargain between them.She rejoices in the honour and glory of being a well-known artist'swife, while he has rather more money than is good for him."

  Ralph, broadened out a bit since his successful trip to America, was onthe steps of the Mansions to welcome them, and the lift conveyed themall three up to the flat--the dear, home-like flat of which Nan feltshe loved every inch.

  "You're in your old room," Penelope told her, and Nan gave vent to acrow of delight.

  Dinner was a delightful meal, full of the familiar gossip of theartistes' room, and the news of old friends, and fervent discussions onmatters musical and artistic, with running through it all a ripple ofhumour and the cheery atmosphere of camaraderie and good-fellowship.W
hen it was over, the three drew cosily together round the fire inRalph's den. Nan sank into her chair with a blissful sigh.

  "That's not a sigh of repletion, Penny," she explained. "Though reallyyour cook might have earned it? . . . But oh! _isn't_ this nice?"Inwardly she was reflecting that at just about this time Roger,together with Lady Gertrude and Isobel, would be returning fromGreat-aunt Rachel's funeral, only to learn of her own flight fromTrenby Hall.

  "Yes," agreed Penelope. "It really was angelic of Roger to spare youat a moment's notice."

  Nan gave a grim little smile.

  "You dear innocent! Roger--didn't know--I was coming."

  "What!"

  "No, I just thought I'd come . . . and he--they were all away . . . andI came! I left a note behind, telling him I was going to stay withyou. So he won't be anxious!"

  "Roger didn't know you were coming!" repeated Penelope. "Nan"--asudden light illuminating the dark places--"have you had a quarrel?"

  "Yes"--shortly. "A sort of quarrel."

  "And you came straight off here? . . . Oh, Nan, what a fool's trick!He will be furious!"

  Once or twice Penelope had caught a glimpse of that hot-headed temperwhich lay hidden beneath Roger's somewhat blunt exterior.

  "Lady Gertrude will be furious!" murmured Nan reminiscently.

  "I think she'll have the right to be," answered Penelope, with quietrebuke in her tones. "It really was abominable of you to run away likethat."

  Nan shrugged her shoulders, and Ralph looked across at her, smilingbroadly.

  "You're a very exasperating young person, Nan," he said. "If you weregoing to be my wife, I believe I should beat you."

  "Well, that would at least break the monotony of things," she retorted.But her lips set themselves in a straight, hard, line at theremembrance of Roger's stormy threat: "I might even do that."

  "Is it monotony you're suffering from?" asked Ralph quickly.

  She nodded.

  "I'm fed up with the country and its green fields--never anything butgreen fields! They're so eternally, _damnably_ green!"

  "Oh, Nan! And the scenery in Cornwall is perfectly lovely!" protestedPenelope feebly.

  "Man cannot live by bread alone, Penny--nor scenery either. I justyearned for London. So I came."

  The next morning, much to Nan's surprise, brought neither letter nortelegram from Roger.

  "I quite expected a wire: 'Return at once. All will be forgiven,'" shesaid frivolously, as lunch time came and still no message.

  "Perhaps he isn't prepared to forgive you," suggested Ralph.

  Nan stared at him without answering, her eyes dilating curiously. Shehad never even dreamed of such a possibility, and a sudden wild hopeflamed up within her.

  "It's rather a knock to a man's pride, you know, if the girl he'sengaged to does a bolt the moment his back's turned," pursued Ralph.

  "It was madness!" said Penelope with the calmness of despair.

  Nan remained silent. Neither their praise nor blame would haveaffected her one iota at the moment. All that mattered was whether,without in the least intending to do it, she had cut the cords whichbound her so irrevocably. Was it conceivable that Roger's pride wouldbe so stung by her action in running away from Trenby Hall during hisabsence that he would never wish to see her again--far less make herhis wife?

  She had never contemplated the matter from that angle. But now, asRalph put it before her, she realised that the attitude he indicatedmight reasonably be that of most men in similar circumstances.

  Her heart beat deliriously at the very thought. If release came thisway--by Roger's own decision--she would be free to take it! The priceof the blunder she had made when she pledged herself to him--a pricewhich was so much heavier than she could possibly have imagined--wouldbe remitted.

  And from the depths of her soul a fervent, disjointed prayer went up toheaven:

  "God, God, please don't let him forgive me--don't let him ever forgiveme!"