The Hillman

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  XXI

  Early on the following morning John glided out of London in histwo-seated racing-car, on his way to Bourne End. The white mist thathung over the Streets and parks and obscured the sky passed away as heleft the suburbs behind him. With his first glimpse of the country camea welcome change. There were little flecks of blue in the firmamentabove him, a distinct if somewhat watery sunshine, and a soft buoyancyin the air, almost an anticipation of spring.

  John leaned back in his seat, filled with an unexpected sense ofcontentment. After all, this week-end visit would probably turn out tobe pleasant enough, and on Monday night the play was to be produced atlast. He felt that for weeks Louise had been living in an atmosphere ofhigh tension. He himself had begun to realize the nervous excitement ofa first night, when the work of many months is at last presented in itsconcrete form. He was content to believe that all that had depressed himin Louise's demeanor had been due to this cause--to anxiety about hersuccess, to the artistic dissatisfaction evolved by the struggle betweenher desire to conform to the prejudices of the critics and her wish topresent truthfully the work of the great French dramatist. Once it wasall over and the verdict given, relaxation would come. He was content towait.

  He had no trouble in finding Lady Hilda's cottage in Bourne End--a long,white bungalow-looking building, surrounded by a little stream whichled down to the river. A man servant took his dressing case from theback of the car and showed him the way to the garage. Lady Hilda herselfcame strolling up the lawn and waved her hand.

  "Now what about my week-end on the river?" she exclaimed, as they shookhands. "Isn't it delightful? I have ordered lunch early--do youmind?--and I thought, if you felt energetic, it's not too cold for youto take me out on the river; or, if you feel lazy, I'll take you."

  "I am not much of an oarsman," John told her, "but I certainly won't askyou to pull me about!"

  She led him into the little dining room and answered the question in hiseyes when he saw the table laid for two.

  "Colonel and Mrs. Dauncey are coming down this afternoon," she said,"and my brother Fred will be here in time for dinner. I wired to Mrs.Henderson--the woman who writes novels, you know--to come down, too, ifshe can, but I haven't heard from her. I have been looking at the riverthis morning, and it's almost like glass; and I can see little specks ofgreen in the flower-beds where my bulbs are coming up. Richards willshow you your room now, if you like, and we'll have lunch in tenminutes."

  John found his cottage bedroom, with its view of the river, delightful,and at luncheon Lady Hilda showed him the side of herself that he likedbest. She talked of her travels, and of big-game shooting. Afterwardthey sauntered out to the stream, and John, selecting the more stable ofthe two boats moored to the little landing-stage, pulled out into theriver. Lady Hilda, in a fur coat, leaned back on a pile of cushions andwatched him, with a cigarette between her lips. He found the exercisestimulating and delightful. Some of the color which he had lost cameback to his cheeks.

  "Aren't you sorry," she asked him once, as they paused to look across avista of green meadows toward a distant range of hills, "for the peoplewho see nothing in the country except in summer? Look at those lines ofbare, sad trees, the stillness of it all, and yet the softness; andthink what it will soon be, think what there is underneath, ready toburst into life as the weeks go on! I always come down here early, justto watch the coming of springtime. That wood to our left, with its bare,brown undergrowth, will soon show little flushes of pinky-yellow, andthen a few days more sunshine and the primroses will be there. And yousee, higher up, that wood where the trees stand so far apart? A littlelater still, the wild hyacinths will be like a blue carpet there. In thegarden we begin with little rings of white snowdrops; then the crocusescome up in lines, yellow and purple; and the daffodils; and then, onthose beds behind, the hyacinths. When the wind blows from the south,the perfume of them, as you pass down the river, is simply wonderful. Becareful, if you are turning round. There's a strong current here."

  John nodded. He was watching his hostess a little curiously.

  "I had no idea," he said simply, "that you cared about flowers and thatsort of thing."

  She threw her cigarette away and looked at him for a moment withoutspeaking.

  "You see, you don't really understand me very well," she remarked.

  The twilight was coming on as they turned into their own little stream,and gleams of light shot from the windows of the few houses that wereopen. As they strolled up the lawn, they could see a rose-shaded lampand a silver tea-equipage set out in Lady Hilda's sitting room.

  "No one arrived yet, I see," she remarked carelessly, as they enteredthe cottage. "I'll play you a game of billiards as soon as we have hadtea."

  John, who had thoroughly enjoyed his exercise, sat in a low chair by herside, drank innumerable small cups of tea, and ate buttered toast inthin strips. When they had finished, Lady Hilda rose.

  "Go and knock the balls about for a few minutes," she begged. "I amgoing to put on a more comfortable gown. If the Daunceys come, you canentertain them. I played a round of golf this morning before you came."

  John made his way into the comfortable billiard room, at one end ofwhich a wood fire was burning, lit a cigarette, and took out a cue.Presently Lady Hilda returned. She was wearing a rose-colored tea-gown,and once more John caught a glimpse of something in her eyes, as shelooked at him, which puzzled him.

  "I am a little gaudy, I am afraid," she laughed, as she took a cue fromthe rack, "but so comfortable! How many will you give me in a hundred?"

  "I have never seen you play," John reminded her. "I am not much goodmyself."

  They played two games, and John had hard work to escape defeat. As theywere commencing the third, the butler entered the room, bearing atelegram. Lady Hilda took it from the salver, glanced at it, and threwit into the fire.

  "What a nuisance!" she exclaimed. "The Daunceys can't come."

  John, who was enjoying himself very much, murmured only a word or two ofpolite regret. He had never got over his distaste for meeting strangers.

  "Can't be helped, I suppose," Lady Hilda remarked. "There is nothingfrom Flo Henderson yet. We'll have one more game, and then I'll ring herup."

  They played another game of billiards, and sat by the fire for a littlewhile. The silence outside, and the air of repose about the place, weredelightful to John after several months of London.

  "I wonder you ever leave here," he said.

  She laughed softly.

  "You forget that I am a lone woman. Solitude, as our dear friend wrotein her last novel, is a paradise for two, but is an irritant for one."

  There was a short silence. For the first time since his arrival John'stranquillity was a little disturbed. There was something almost patheticin the expression which had flashed for a moment over his hostess'sface. Was she really lonely, he wondered? Perhaps she had some sort ofunhappy love history underneath her rather hard exterior. He wasdisposed just then to judge the whole world charitably, and he had neverbelieved the stories which people were so anxious to tell of her. Hefelt no desire to pursue the subject.

  "I have never read any of Mrs. Henderson's books," he remarked.

  She stretched out an arm, took a volume from the swinging table by herside, and threw it across to him.

  "You can glance through that while you dress," she said.

  A gong rang through the house a few moments later, and the butlerbrought in two cocktails on a little silver tray.

  "We are having quite a solitude _a deux_, aren't we?" Lady Hildaremarked, as she raised her glass. "I'll go and ring up Flo on my wayup-stairs."

  They parted a few minutes later, and John went up to his room. He foundhis clothes carefully laid out, a bright fire burning, and a bath-roomleading from his bedroom. He dressed in somewhat leisurely fashion, andthe dinner-gong rang as he descended the stairs. He could hear LadyHilda's voice talking on the telephone, and made his way to her littleroom. She ha
d just laid down the receiver.

  "It seems," she said, "that you and I are the only people who appreciatethe country at this time of the year. I have just been talking to Flo.She declares that nothing in the world would tempt her down here. She isconvinced that all the trees are dropping with damp, and that the mud isinches deep. She won't believe a single word about the sunshine."

  "She isn't coming, then?"

  Lady Hilda shook her head.

  "Fred is our last hope as a chaperon," she remarked carelessly, as shetook his arm. "I expect he'll turn up later."

  Dinner--which, as John observed when they entered the room, was laidonly for two--was served at a small, round table drawn pleasantly up tothe fire. John, who had never admired his hostess more, put alldisquieting thoughts behind him and thoroughly enjoyed the dainty meal.The pleasant warmth of the room, the excellent champagne, and LadyHilda's amusing conversation, unlocked his tongue. He talked much morefreely than usual of his life in Cumberland, of the various half-formedplans which he had made as to the spending of his unexpected fortune, ofthe new pleasure he found in motoring, of his almost pathetic effortsto understand and appreciate the town life which at heart he hated. Aclever listener, like most good talkers, Lady Hilda frequentlyencouraged him with a sympathetic word or two.

  They were sitting over their coffee and liqueurs in two great easychairs drawn up to the fire, when John glanced at the clock with alittle start.

  "Why, it's nearly ten o'clock!" he exclaimed. "What on earth can havebecome of your brother?"

  Almost as he spoke the telephone-bell rang. It stood on a little tablebehind him. Lady Hilda, who was leaning back in her chair in an attitudeof luxurious repose, pointed lazily to it.

  "Answer it for me, there's a dear man," she begged.

  John took up the receiver. He recognized the voice at once--it was LadyHilda's brother who spoke.

  "I say, is Lady Hilda there?" he asked.

  "Yes, where are you?" John replied. "I am John Strangewey. We have beenexpecting you all the evening."

  "Expecting me?" was the reply. "What on earth are you talking about? Andwhat are you doing in the wilderness?"

  "I am spending the week-end with your sister," John replied. "Iunderstood that you were coming."

  The young man at the other end laughed derisively.

  "Something better to do, old chap!" he said. "I am dining with FloHenderson--just speaking from her flat. Send Hilda along, there's a goodfellow."

  John turned around. His eyes met Lady Hilda's, and he understood. Hehanded the receiver to her in silence. Of the conversation which passedhe scarcely heard a word. As soon as it began, in fact, he left theroom and went across the hall to the billiard room. The lights werealready lit, and cues, ready chalked, were standing by the table.

  John went through a few moments of dismayed wonder. He glanced out ofthe window toward the garage, which was all in darkness. He heard thesoft sweep of Lady Hilda's skirts across the hall, the closing of thedoor as she entered. Her eyes met his, as he turned around, withsomething of challenge in them. Her lips were curved in a faintlyironical smile.

  "Well?" she exclaimed, a little defiantly. "Shall I telephone to Londonfor a chaperon?"

  "Not unless you think it necessary," John replied, suddenly feeling thefire of battle in his blood. "I can assure you that I am to be trusted.On the other hand, if you prefer it, I can motor back to town; or I cango to the inn, and come and take you on the river in the morning."

  It was obvious that she was a little surprised. She came over to him,put her hands upon the billiard table, and looked up into his face.

  "Don't be a goose," she begged, "and please don't imagine foolishthings. I suppose my telegram to Fred must have gone wrong. Anyhow, Idon't think we need anybody else. We've got along very well so farto-day, haven't we?"

  "I've enjoyed every moment of it," John declared cheerfully, "and I amlooking forward more than I can tell you to beating you at billiards, tosleeping once more with my windows wide open and no smuts, and to havinganother pull on that river in the morning. Let me give you fifteen thistime. I want to play my best!"

  She took up her cue with a little sigh of half-puzzled relief. Theyplayed two games, the second one at John's insistence. Then the butlerbrought in whisky and soda.

  "Is there anything further to-night, madam?" he asked, after he hadarranged the tray.

  "Nothing," Lady Hilda answered. "You can go to bed."

  They played the last game almost in silence. Then Lady Hilda replacedher cue in the rack and threw herself into one of the easy chairs.

  "Bring me a whisky-and-soda," she said. "We'll have one cigarette beforewe go to bed."

  John obeyed her, and sat by her side. She looked at him a littlequestioningly. His unhesitating acceptance of the situation had puzzledher. There was nothing but the slightest change in his manner to denotehis realization of the fact that the house-party was a sham.

  "I believe you are cross," she exclaimed suddenly.

  "On the contrary," John replied, "I have had a thoroughly delightfulday."

  "You don't like people who tell fibs," she went on. "You know quitewell, now, that my house-party was a farce. I never asked the Daunceys,I never sent a telegram to Fred. It was simply rotten luck that he rangme up. I asked you down here to spend the week-end with me--alone."

  He looked her in the face, without the slightest change of expression.

  "Then I think that it was exceedingly nice of you," he said, "and Iappreciate the compliment. Really," he went on, with a smile, "I thinkwe are quite safe, aren't we? You are known as a man-hater, and you areallowed special privileges because you are what you are. And I am knownto be in love with another woman."

  She frowned slightly.

  "Does the whole world, then, know of your infatuation?" she asked.

  "It may know, for all I care," John replied simply. "I am hoping thatafter Monday Louise will let me announce it."

  There was a short silence. A portion of the log fell to the hearth, andJohn carefully replaced it upon the fire.

  "Do you remember," she asked, dropping her voice almost to a whisper,"what I said to you the first night we met at Covent Garden, before Ihad any particular interest in you, before I had come to like you?"

  John made no reply. Why did she again remind him of what she had saidthat night?

  "I advised you," she went on, "not to be too rash. I think I told youthat there were better things."

  "There is no better thing in the world," John said simply, "than to giveevery feeling of which you are capable to the woman you love."

  She frowned and threw her cigarette into the hearth.

  "You talk," she declared, "either like George Alexander on the stage, orlike a country bumpkin! Why doesn't some one teach you the manners ofcivilized life?"

  "Lady Hilda," he replied, "I am past teaching. You see, the fact of itis that a country bumpkin is exactly what I am."

  She turned her white shoulder away from him.

  "You will find a candle on the hall table," she snapped.

  John rose at once to his feet.

  "It's your delightful country air, I suppose," he said. "I am sorry ifI betrayed my sleepiness, however. Good night!"

  Lady Hilda made no answer. John looked backward from the door. She hadkicked off her slipper and was warming her foot before the fire.

  "Good night!" he repeated. "I am going to wake like a giant in themorning, and pull you just as far as you like up the river!"

  He closed the door, lit a candle, and made his way to his room. As soonas he was there he locked the door and flung the window wide open.Resting his elbows upon the window-sill, he looked out at the soft,misty darkness. He had the sensation of having been through someundignified fight, in which even victory savored of shame. He felt aquivering consciousness, half indignant, half irritated, of having beenforced into an impossible situation.

  Presently he began to undress. He moved about on tiptoe, and foundhimself con
tinually listening. He heard Lady Hilda come out from thebilliard room below, heard her strike a match as she lit a candle, heardher coming up the stairs. He stood quite still. Suddenly he saw thehandle of his door turned softly--once, and then again. He watched itwith fascinated, almost horrified eyes. The door was shaken slightly. Avoice from outside called him.

  "Good night!"

  He made no reply. The handle ceased to rattle. He heard retreatingfootsteps, the opening and closing of Lady Hilda's door.