The Bars of Iron

by Ethel M. Dell

  CHAPTER III

  THE GAME

  Jeanie rallied. As though to comfort Avery's distress, she came back fora little space; but no one--not even her father--could doubt any longerthat the poor little mortal life had nearly run out.

  "My intervention has come too late, alas!" said Mr. Lorimer.

  Which remark was received by Avery in bitter silence.

  She had no further fear of being deprived of the child. It was quite outof the question to think of moving her, and she knew that Jeanie was hersfor as long as the frail cord of her earthly existence lasted.

  She was thankful that the advent of a nurse made it impossible for theVicar to remain, and she parted from him with almost open relief.

  "We must bow to the Supreme Will," he said, with his heavy sigh.

  And again Avery was silent.

  "I fear you are rebellious," he said with severity.

  "Good-bye!" said Avery.

  Her heart bled more for Mrs. Lorimer than for herself just then. She knewby instinct that she would not be allowed to come to her child.

  The nurse was middle-aged and kindly, and both she and Jeanie liked herfrom the outset. She took the night duty, and the day was Avery's, adivision that pleased them all.

  Mr. Lorimer had demurred about having a nurse at all, but Avery hadswept the objection aside. Jeanie was in her care, and she would provideall she needed. Mr. Lorimer had conceded the point as gracefully aspossible, for it seemed that for once his will could not be regarded asparamount. Of course, as he openly reflected, Lady Evesham was very muchin their debt, and it was but natural that she should welcome thisopportunity to repay somewhat of their past kindness to her.

  So, for the first time in her life, little Jeanie was surrounded with allthat she could desire; and very slowly, like a broken flower coaxed backto life, she revived again.

  It could scarcely be regarded in the light of an improvement. It wasjust a fluctuation that deceived neither Avery nor the nurse; but to theformer those days were infinitely precious. She clung to them hour byhour, refusing to look ahead to the desolation that was surely coming,cherishing her darling with a passion of devotion that excluded allother griefs.

  The long summer days slipped away. June passed like a dream. Jeanie layin the tiny garden with her face to the sea, gazing forth with eyes thatwere often heavy and wistful but always ready to smile upon Avery. Theholiday-task was put away, not because Mr. Lorimer had remitted it, butbecause Avery--with rare despotism--had insisted upon removing it fromher patient's reach.

  "Not till you are better, darling," she said. "That is your biggest dutynow, just to get back all the strength you can."

  And Jeanie had smiled her wistful, dreamy smile, and submitted.

  Avery sometimes wondered if she knew of the great Change that was drawingso rapidly near. If so, it had no terrors for her; and she thanked Godthat the Vicar was not at hand to terrify the child. The journey fromRodding to Stanbury Cliffs was not an easy one by rail, and parishmatters were fortunately claiming his attention very fully just then. Ashe himself had remarked more than once, he was not the man to permit merepersonal matters to interfere with Duty, and many a weak soul dependedupon his ministrations.

  So Jeanie was left entirely to Avery's motherly care while the goldendays slipped by.

  With July came heat, intense, oppressive, airless; and Jeanie flaggedagain. A copper-coloured mist rose every morning over the sea, blottingout the sky-line, veiling the passing ships. Strange voices calledthrough the fog, sirens hooted to one another persistently.

  "They are like people who have lost each other," Jeanie said once, andthe simile haunted Avery's imagination.

  And then one sunny day a pleasure-steamer passed quite near the shorewith a band on board. They were playing _The Little Grey Home in theWest_, and very oddly Jeanie's eyes filled with sudden tears.

  Avery did not take any notice for a few moments, but as the strainsdied-away over the glassy water, she leaned towards the child.

  "My darling, what is it?" she whispered tenderly.

  Jeanie's hand found its way into hers. "Oh, don't you ever want Piers?"she murmured wistfully. "I do!"

  It was the first time she had spoken his name to Avery since they hadleft him alone nearly a year before, and almost as soon as she haduttered it she made swift apology.

  "Please forgive me, dear Avery! It just slipped out."

  "My dear!" Avery said, and kissed her.

  There fell a long silence between them. Avery's eyes were on the thickheat-haze that obscured the sky-line. In her brain there sounded againthose words that Maxwell Wyndham had spoken so short a time before. "Giveher everything she wants! It's all you can do for her now."

  But behind those words was something that shrank and quivered like afrightened child. Could she give her this one thing? Could she?Could she?

  It would mean the tearing open of a wound that was scarcely closed. Itwould mean a calling to life of a bitterness that was hardly past. Itwould mean--it would mean--

  "Avery darling!" Softly Jeanie's voice broke through her agitatedthoughts.

  Avery turned and looked at her,--the frail, sweet face with its shiningeyes of love.

  "I didn't mean to hurt you," whispered Jeanie. "Don't think any moreabout it!"

  "Do you want him so dreadfully?" Avery said.

  Jeanie's eyes were full of tears again. She tried to answer, but her lipsquivered. She turned her face aside, and was silent.

  The day waxed hotter, became almost insupportable. In the afternoonJeanie was attacked by breathlessness and coughing, both painful towitness. She could find no rest or comfort, and Avery was in momentarydread of a return of the hemorrhage.

  It did not return, but when evening came at length and with it theblessed coolness of approaching night, Jeanie was so exhausted as to beunable to speak above a whisper. She lay white and still, scarcelyconscious, only her difficult breathing testifying to the fluttering lifethat had ebbed so low.

  The nurse's face was very grave as she came on duty, but after aninterval of steady watching, during which the wind blew in withrising freshness from the sea, she turned to Avery, saying, "I thinkshe will revive."

  Avery nodded and slipped away.

  There was not much time left. She ran all the way to the post-office andscribbled a message there with trembling fingers.

  "Jeanie wants you. Will you come? Avery."

  She sent the message to Rodding Abbey. She knew they would forward itfrom there.

  Passing out again into the road, a sudden sense of sickness swept overher. What had she done? What uncontrolled force would that telegramunfetter? Would he come to her like a whirlwind and sweep her back intohis own tempestuous life? Would he break her will once more to his? Wouldhe drag her once more through the hell of his passion, kindle afresh forher the flame that had consumed her happiness?

  She dared not face the possibility. She felt as if an iron hand hadclosed upon her, drawing her surely, irresistibly, back towards thosegates of brass through which she had escaped into the desert. That fierytorture would be infinitely harder to bear now, and she knew that thefieriest point of it all would be the desperate, aching longing to knowagain the love that had shone and burnt itself out in the blast-furnaceof his sin. He had loved her once; she was sure he had loved her. Butthat love had died with his boyhood, and it could never rise again. Hehad trodden it underfoot and her own throbbing heart with it. He haddestroyed that which she had always believed to be indestructible.

  She never wanted to see him again. She would have given all she had tohave avoided the meeting. Her whole being recoiled from the thought ofit. And yet--and yet--she saw again the black head laid against her knee,and heard the low, half-rueful words: "Oh, my dear, there is no otherwoman but you in all the world!"

  The vision went with her all through the night. She could not escape it.

  In the morning she rose with a sense of being haunted, and a terribleweariness that hung upon her li
ke a chain.

  The day was cooler. Jeanie was better. She had had a nice sleep, thenurse said. But there could be no question of allowing her to leave herbed that day.

  "You are looking so tired," the nurse said, in her kind way to Avery. "Iam not wanting to go off duty till this afternoon. So won't you go andsit down somewhere on the rocks? Please do!"

  She was so anxious to gain her point that Avery yielded. She felt toofeverishly restless to be a suitable companion for Jeanie just then. Shewent down to her favourite corner to watch the tide come in. But shecould not be still. She paced the shore like a caged creature seeking away of escape, dreading each turn lest it should bring her face to facewith the man she had summoned.

  The tide came in and drove her up the beach. She went back notunwillingly, for the suspense had become insupportable.

  Had he come? But surely not! She was convinced he would have followed herto the shore if he had.

  She entered the tiny hall. It was square, and served them as asitting-room. Coming in from the glare without, she was momentarilydazzled. And then all suddenly her eyes lighted upon an unaccustomedobject, and her heart ceased to beat. A man's tweed cap lay carelesslytossed upon the back of a chair!

  She stood quite still, feeling her senses reel, knowing herself to be onthe verge of fainting, and clinging with all her strength to hertottering self-control.

  Gradually she recovered, felt her heart begin to beat again and thedeadly faintness pass. There was a telegram on the table. She took it up,found it addressed to herself, opened it with fumbling fingers.

  "Tell Jeanie I am coming to-day. Piers."

  It had arrived an hour before, and she was conscious of a vague sense ofthankfulness that she had been spared that hour of awful certainty.

  A door opened at the top of the stairs. A voice spoke. "I'll come back,my queen. But I've got to pay my respects, you know, to the mistress ofthe establishment, or she'll be cross. Do you remember the Averysymphony? We'll have it presently."

  A light step followed the voice. Already he was on the stairs. He camebounding down to her like an eager boy. For one wild moment she thoughthe was going to throw his arms about her. But he stopped himself beforehe reached her.

  "I say, how ill you look!" he said.

  That was all the greeting he uttered, and in the same moment she saw thatthe black hair above his forehead was powdered with white. It sent such ashock through her as no word or action of his could have caused.

  She stood for a moment gazing at him in stiff inaction. Then, stillstiffly, she held out her hand. But she could not utter a word. She feltas if she were going to burst into tears.

  He took the hand. His dark eyes interrogated her, but they told hernothing. "It's all right," he said rapidly. "I'm Jeanie's visitor. Ishan't forget it. It was decent of you to send. I say, you--you are notreally ill, what?"

  No, she was not ill. She heard herself telling him so in a voice she didnot know. And all the while she felt as if her heart were bleeding,bleeding to death.

  He let her hand go, and straightened himself with the old free arroganceof movement. "May I have something to eat?" he said. "Your message onlygot to me this morning. I was at breakfast, and I had to leave it tocatch the train. So I've had practically nothing."

  That moved her to activity. She led the way into the little parlourwhere luncheon had been laid. He sat down at the table, and she waitedupon him, almost in silence, yet no longer with embarrassment.

  "Aren't you going to join me?" he said.

  She sat down also, and took a minute helping of cold chicken.

  "I say, you're not going to eat all that!" ejaculated Piers.

  She had to laugh a little, though still with that horrified sense oftragedy at her heart.

  He laughed too his careless boyish laugh, and in a moment all theelectricity of the past few moments had gone out of the atmosphere. Heleaned forward unexpectedly and transferred a wing of chicken from hisplate to hers.

  "Look here, Avery! You must eat. It's absurd. So fire away like asensible woman!"

  There was no tenderness in his tone, but, oddly, she thrilled to itsimperiousness, conscious of the old magnetism compelling her. She beganto eat in silence.

  Piers ate too in his usual quick fashion, glancing at her once or twicebut making no further comment.

  "Tell me about Jeanie!" he said, finally. "What has brought her to this?Can't we do anything--take her to Switzerland or somewhere?"

  Avery shook her head. "Can't you see?" she said, in a low voice.

  He frowned upon her abruptly. "I see lots," he said enigmatically. "It'squite hopeless, what? Wyndham told me as much. But--I don't believe inhopeless things."

  Avery looked at him, mystified by his tone. "She is dying," she said.

  "I don't believe in death either," said Piers, in the tone of one whochallenged the world. "And now look here, Avery! Let's make the best ofthings for the kiddie's sake! She's had a rotten time all her days. Let'sgive her a decent send-off, what? Let's give her the time of her lifebefore she goes!"

  He got up suddenly from his chair and went to the open window.

  Avery turned her head to watch him, but for some reason she couldnot speak.

  He went on vehemently, his face turned from her. "In Heaven's name don'tlet's be sorry! It's such a big thing to go out happy. Let's play thegame! I know you can; you were always plucky. Let's give her everythingshe wants and some over! What, Avery, what? I'm not asking for myself."

  She did not know exactly what he was asking, but she did not dare to tellhim so. She sat quite silent, feeling her heart quicken, strivingdesperately to be calm.

  He flung round suddenly, and came to her. "Will you do it?" he said.

  She raised her eyes to his. She was white to the lips.

  He made one of his quick, half-foreign gestures. "Don't!" he saidharshly. "You make me feel such a brute. Can't you trust me--can't youpretend to trust me--for Jeanie's sake?" His hand closed fiercely on theback of her chair. He bent towards her. "It's only a hollow bargain.You'll hate it of course. Do you suppose I shall enjoy it any better? Doyou suppose I would ask it of you for any reason but this?"

  Something in his face or voice pierced her. She felt again that dreadfulpain at her heart, as if the blood were draining from it with every beat.

  "I don't know what to say to you, Piers," she said at last.

  He bit his lip in sheer impatience, but the next moment he controlledhimself. "I'm asking a difficult thing of you," he said, forcing hisvoice to a quiet level. "It isn't particularly easy for me either;perhaps in a sense, it's even harder. But you must have known when yousent for me that something of the kind was inevitable. What you didn'tknow--possibly--was that Jeanie is grieving badly over our estrangement.She wants to draw us together again. Will you suffer it? Will you playthe game with me? It won't be for long."

  His eyes looked straight into hers, but they held only a great darknessin which no flicker of light burned. Avery felt as if the gulf betweenthem had widened to a measureless abyss. Once she could have read himlike an open book; but now she had not the vaguest clue to his feelingsor his motives. He had as it were withdrawn beyond her ken.

  "Is it to be only make-believe?" she asked at last.

  "Just that," he said, but she thought his voice rang hard as he said it.

  An odd little tremor went through her. She put her hand up to her throat."Piers, I don't know--I am afraid--" She broke off in agitation.

  He leaned towards her. "Don't be afraid!" he said. "There isnothing so damning as fear. Shall we go up to her now? I promised Iwouldn't be long."

  She rose. He was still standing close to her, so close that she felt thewarmth of his body, heard the sharp indrawing of his breath.

  For one sick second she thought he would snatch her to him; but thesecond passed and he had not moved.

  "Shall we go?" he said again. "And I say, can you put me up? I don't carewhere I sleep. Any sort of shakedown will do. That sofa--" he g
lancedtowards the one by the window upon which Jeanie had been wont to lie.

  "If you like," Avery said.

  She felt that the power to refuse him had left her. He would do as hethought fit.

  They went upstairs together, and she saw Jeanie's face light up as theyentered. Piers was behind. Coming forward, he slipped a confident handthrough Avery's arm. She felt his fingers close upon her warningly,checking her slight start; and she knew with an odd mixture of relief anddismay that this was the beginning of the game. She forced herself tosmile in answer, and she knew that she succeeded; but it was one of thegreatest efforts of her life.