The Bars of Iron

by Ethel M. Dell

  CHAPTER XXXV

  THE DARK HOUR

  Avery was very early at the church on the following morning, and hadbegun the work of decorating even before Miss Whalley appeared on thescene. It was a day of showers and fleeting gleams of sunshine, and theinterior of the little building flashed from gloom to brilliance, andfrom brilliance back to gloom with fitful frequency.

  Daffodils and primroses were littered all around Avery, and a certainsubdued pleasure was hers as she decked the place with the springflowers. She was quite alone, for by the Vicar's inflexible decree allthe elder children, with the exception of Olive, were confined to theschoolroom for the morning with their respective tasks.

  The magnitude of these tasks had struck dismay to Avery's heart. She didnot privately believe that any one of them could ever be accomplished inthe prescribed time. But the day of reckoning was not yet, and she put itresolutely from her mind. It was useless to forestall trouble, and herown burden of toil that day demanded all her energies.

  The advent of Miss Whalley, thin and acid, put an end to all enjoymentthereof. She bestowed a cool greeting upon Avery, and came at once to herside to criticize her decoration of the font. Miss Whalley always assumedthe direction of affairs on these occasions, and she regarded Avery'sassistance in the place of Mrs. Lorimer's weak efforts in something ofthe light of an intrusion.

  Avery stood and listened to her suggestions with grave forbearance. Shenever disputed anything with Miss Whalley, which may have been in partthe reason for the latter's somewhat suspicious attitude towards her.

  They were still standing before the font while Miss Whalley unfolded herscheme when there came the sound of feet in the porch, and Lennox Tudorput his head in.

  His eyes fell at once upon Avery. He hesitated a moment then entered.

  She turned eagerly to meet him. "Oh, how is the Squire this morning? Haveyou been up to the Abbey yet?"

  "The Squire!" echoed Miss Whalley. "Is he ill? I was not aware of it."

  Avery's eyes were fixed on Tudor's face, and all in a moment she realizedthat he had been up all night.

  He did not seem to notice Miss Whalley, but spoke to Avery, and to heralone. "I have just come back from the Abbey. The Squire died about anhour ago."

  "The Squire!" said Miss Whalley again, in staccato tones.

  Avery said nothing, but she turned suddenly white, so white that Tudorwas moved to compunction.

  "I shouldn't have blurted it out like that. Sit down! The poor old chapnever rallied really. He had a little talk with Piers half-an-hour or sobefore he went. But it was only the last flicker of the candle. Wecouldn't save him."

  He bent down over her. "Don't look like that! It wasn't your fault. Itwas bound to come. I've foreseen it for some little time. I told him itwas madness to go out riding as he did; but he wouldn't listen to me.Avery, I say! Avery!" His voice sank to an undertone.

  She forced her stiff lips to smile faintly in answer to the concern itheld. With an effort she commanded herself.

  "What of Piers?" she said.

  He stood up again with a sharp gesture, and turned from her to answerMiss Whalley's eager questions.

  "Surely it is very sudden!" the latter was saying. "How did it happen?Will there be an inquest?"

  "There will not," said Tudor curtly. "I have been attending the Squire,for some time, and I knew that sooner or later this would happen. TheVicar is not here?" He turned to Avery. "I promised to look in on him onmy way back. Shall I find him at the Vicarage?"

  He was gone almost before she could answer, and Avery was left on theseat by the door, staring before her with a wildly throbbing heart, stillasking herself with a curious insistence, "What of Piers? What of Piers?"

  Miss Whalley surveyed her with marked disapproval. She considered itgreat presumption on Avery's part to be upset by such a matter, and herattitude said as much as she walked with a stately air down the churchand commenced her own self-appointed task of decorating the pulpit.

  Avery did not stir for several seconds; and when she did it was to go tothe open door and stand there looking out into the spring sunshine. Shefelt strangely incapable of grasping what had happened. She could notrealize that that dominant personality that had striven with her onlyyesterday--only yesterday--had passed utterly away in a few hours. Itseemed incredible, beyond the bounds of possibility. Again and again SirBeverley's speech and look returned to her. How emphatic he had been,how resolutely determined to attain his end! He had discharged hisobligation, as he had said. He had paid his last debt. And in thepayment of it he had laid upon her a burden which she had felt compelledto accept.

  Would it prove too much for her, she wondered? Had she yet again taken afalse step that could never be retraced? Again the thought of Piers wentthrough her, piercing her like a sword. Piers alone! Piers in trouble!She wished that Dr. Tudor had answered her question even though sheregretted having asked it. How would he bear his solitude, she wonderedwith an aching heart; and a sudden great longing arose within her to goand comfort him, as she alone possessed the power to comfort. Allselfish considerations departed with the thought. She realizedpoignantly all that Sir Beverley had visualized when he had told herthat very soon his boy would be all alone. She knew fully why he hadpressed upon her the task of helping Piers through his dark hour. He hadknown--as she also knew--how sore would be his need of help. And asthis came home to her, her strength--that strength which was the patientbuilding of all the years of her womanhood--came back to her, and shefelt renewed and unafraid.

  She returned to her work with a steadfastness of purpose that evenMiss Whalley viewed with distant admiration; working throughout themorning while the minute bell tolled overhead, rendering honour to thedeparted Squire.

  When she left at length to return to the Vicarage for the midday meal,her portion was done.

  But it was not till night came again that she found time to write the fewbrief words that she had been revolving in her mind all day long.

  "DEAR PIERS,

  "I am thinking of you constantly, and longing to help you in yourtrouble. Let me know if there is anything whatever that I can do, and Ishall be ready at any time.

  "With love from Avery."

  Her face glowed softly over the writing of the note. She slipped out andposted it before she went to bed.

  He would get it in the morning, and he would be comforted. For he wouldunderstand. She was sure that he would understand.

  Of herself all through that second wakeful night she did not think atall, and so no doubts rose to torment her. She lay in a species of tiredwonder. She was keeping her promise to the dead man, and in the keepingof it there was peace.

  The great square Abbey pew at the top of the church was emptythroughout Easter Sunday. A heavy gloom reigned at the Vicarage. Averyand the children were in dire disgrace, and Mrs. Lorimer, spent most ofthe day in tears. She could not agree with the Vicar that they weredirectly responsible for the Squire's death. Dr. Tudor had been veryemphatic in assuring them that what had happened had been theinevitable outcome of a disease of long standing. But this assurancedid not in any way modify the Vicar's attitude, and he decided that thefive children should spend their time in solitary confinement untilafter the day fixed for the funeral.

  This was to be Easter Tuesday, and he himself had arranged to depart theday after--an event to which the entire household, with the singleexception of Olive, looked forward with the greatest eagerness.

  No message came from Piers that night, and Avery wondered a little, butwithout uneasiness. He must have so very much to think of and do at sucha time, she reflected. He would scarcely even have begun to feel thedreadful loneliness.

  But when the next day passed, and still no answer came, a vague anxietyawoke within her. Surely her message had reached him! Surely he must haveread it! The Piers she knew would have dashed off some species of replyat once. How was it he delayed?

  The day of the funeral came, and the Easter flowers were all taken away.The Vicarage
blinds were drawn, the bell tolled again, and Jeanie,weighed down with a dreadful sense of wickedness, lay face downwards onthe schoolroom sofa and wept and wept.

  Avery was very anxious about her. The disgrace and punishment of thepast few days had told upon her. She was sick with trouble anddepression, and Avery could find no means of comforting her. She hadmeant herself to slip out and to go to the funeral for Piers' sake, butshe felt she could not leave the child. So she sat with her in thedarkened room, listening to her broken sobbing, aware that in thesolitude of her room Gracie was crying too, and longing passionately togather together all five of the luckless offenders and deliver them fromtheir land of bondage.

  But there was to be no deliverance that day, nor any lightening of theburden. The funeral over, the Vicar returned and sent for each childseparately to the study for prayer and admonition. Jeanie was the last toface this ordeal and before it was half over Avery was sent for also tofind her lying on the study sofa in a dead faint.

  Avery's indignation was intense, but she could not give it vent. Even theVicar was a little anxious, and when Avery's efforts succeeded at lengthin restoring her, he reprimanded Jeanie severely and reduced her oncemore to tears of uncontrollable distress.

  The long, dreary day came to an end at last, and the thought of a happiermorrow comforted them all. But Avery, though she slept that night, wastroubled by a dream that came to her over and over again throughout thelong hours. She seemed to see Piers, as he had once described himself, aprisoner behind bars; and ever as she looked upon him he strove withgigantic efforts that were wholly vain, to force the bars asunder andcome to her. She could not help him, could not even hear his voice. Butthe agony of his eyes haunted her--haunted her. She awoke at last inanguish of spirit, and slept no more.