She looked up, and saw to her surprise that it was nearly eleven. “I must have been thinking too much,” she said aloud, and hurried off to grapple with the butcher’s undesirable daughter. It did not occur to her that her silent renouncement of Francis had anything unselfish about it; it was merely a question of playing fair.
*
Caroline had promised Colonel Beaton to go over and do a little secretary work that morning. As she walked, having refused her mother-in-law’s offer of the car and thankful for the chance of being alone, she allowed her thoughts to come down from the hills and take up their heavy way through the valleys.
To examine her thoughts was like stalking wild animals. Round and round them she circled, catching a glimpse of a claw or a fang, mistrustful of her power to fight and subdue. Of Julia she could honestly say that she felt no envy. There are some blessed beings to whom happiness comes as a birthright. One can no more envy them that than any other natural gift. One may wish a little wistfully that one were of their company, but the longing holds no bitterness, no wish to hurt or belittle. Her thoughts of Hugh were less easy to explore. Pride had sustained her so far. It is easy enough to bear any mortal blow with pride at one’s side, but to live with an ever-open wound needs more than pride. If she had thought of Hugh last night she would have gone mad. Today she could think of a future in which Hugh had no share with a less tormented mind. Her spirit, fortified by its vigil under a dark sky, on darker hills, had returned to her with a help that pride could not give. She knew now that she would never think of Hugh with love again. The image of one whom she had loved might wring her heart, fill her blood with hot shame, for weeks, for months, how long, but Hugh himself had become a stranger to her with the look that he gave to Julia. One’s pride would never let one die of love for any man, but to cherish the memory of an illusion could harm no one. It did not come into her mind that Francis bore an equal wound, though helped by his love for her more than by his own pride.
“And I dare say by the end of a year I’ll have forgotten even Hugh, just as I can mercifully forget James,” she said to herself sardonically as she opened Whitelands side door which was always kept unlocked.
Colonel Beaton was not in his room, so she took off her outdoor things and set herself to transcribe some notes from his curious calligraphy. She worked quietly and methodically till he came in.
“Well, Caroline, what do you think of the news?” was his greeting. “Julia and Hugh are like creatures demented, and I have come to you for a little peace. I am almost angry with you. Julia told you before she told me.”
“You didn’t mind really? You see I saw them looking like the Black Brunswicker, so I couldn’t but suspect something and they had to tell me. I think it is all perfect.”
“So does Julia. I feel a bit out of it. I think I shall build a grotto in the garden and become a hermit. I’m glad we are to be connections.”
“I never thought of that,” said Caroline, interested. “Of course you will be a kind of ninth cousin of mine. How truly delightful. Oh, William, there is something I very much want to ask you. Wilfred has a very special reason for wanting to get away to town as soon as possible, but he doesn’t like to go on his own for fear of upsetting his people, because he had promised to stay the week. Do you think you could possibly invent something for him to do so that it will seem to Mr. and Mrs. Danvers as if they were doing you a favor in letting him go? It all sounds rather complicated, but I can’t explain. Only it would be terribly kind of you. Anna and I are so worried about him.”
“Is there a lady involved?”
“Well, in a sort of way, but not anything I can tell you about. Will you take my word?”
“Certainly. And I think Hugh and I can find some kind of job between us.”
“Oh, I don’t think Wilfred will want a job from Hugh—” Caroline began, and then pulled herself up, annoyed at her indiscretion.
“Did Wilfred have a feeling for Julia?”
Caroline nodded.
“You haven’t given him away. It was that young George Danvers who became so extremely we-could-an-if-we-would last night that his meaning penetrated even my thick wits. I can quite understand the poor boy not wanting to stay on here, and I’ll arrange it for you, Caroline. It isn’t the first time I have had to give sulbalterns leave to go tiger shooting to repair the ravages made by my irresponsible daughter. I hope Hugh will beat her.”
“I think he will keep her so busy that she won’t have much time to be irresponsible. You see, I’ve known him all my life. He is such a restless person, always on the move, never happy to settle, longing for excitement all the time, adoring lots of ladies, though of course he won’t do that now, a frightfully difficult person to be with unless you are up to your best – but so kind and such a dear,” added Caroline hastily, seeing the colonel’s eyes fixed curiously on her and remembering what he had said about speaking ill of those you love.
After a discussion of the hockey team in which Francis, Hugh and Julia were playing, Caroline began to get ready to go, singing idly in a soft voice as she arranged the papers for next day.
“What’s that you are singing?” asked Colonel Beaton suddenly.
“Strauss. Rosenkavalier.”
“A charming affair. I have the music here. Do sing what you were singing.”
Hating to disoblige, Caroline politely sat down to the piano and turning to the end of the last act sang with a silver thread of a voice:
“Hab’ mir’s gelobt, ihn lieb zu haben in der richtigen Weis’, dass ich selbst sein Lieb’ zu einer andern noch lieb hab’.
Hab mir freilich nicht gedacht—„
Her voice failed and she let her hands fall from the keys.
“I can’t go on,” she said. “It goes into three voices, and not being a female Cerberus I can’t do justice to them.”
She got up and put on her gloves.
“The Marchallin’s words, I think,” said Colonel Beaton looking over the music and then looking at Caroline. “I find them moving.”
“Oh, William,” said Caroline, anxious to change the subject at any cost, afraid that he had guessed, terrified that he might tell her so, “as you aren’t playing hockey can you take me for a long silent walk, very quickly, this afternoon. There is only a week more here, and I pine to walk.”
Colonel Beaton immediately consented and Caroline went home to lunch.
Chapter VIII
Wilfred Finds His Feet
The hockey match was like all other Boxing Day hockey matches. The butler’s daughter had been approached by Anna, and after saying that she didn’t seem to fancy it, had been brought to the stage at which she said she didn’t mind if she did.
“You are center forward,” said Anna to Wilfred who had arrived just as the game was going to begin, “and I’m afraid you’ll have to have Dolly Brush for left wing. I know she can run, because I saw her at the sports at the flower show last year. Otherwise I know nothing.”
This, reflected Wilfred, looking at Miss Brush’s inelegant form, as she put her pads on, was just another of the blows that fate gives a man. But Miss Brush could not only run, she could pass a ball and hit it. Wilfred’s spirits rose a little. Against the opposing team, which consisted of two angry female semiprofessionals and the usual country players who get five or six games a season, he and Miss Brush had it all their own way. Julia, who had never played before and had offered her services partly to be with Hugh, partly to fill a gap, was away somewhere at the back where Wilfred never needed to look at her. After a brilliant attack, during which Wilfred and Miss Brush poached shamelessly all over the field, Beechwood won by ten goals to one.
“Jolly good, Miss Brush,” said Wilfred, shaking his left wing warmly by the hand.
“That’s all right,” said Miss Brush.
“You’ll come up and have some tea, won’t you?” said Wilfred.
“Thanks,” said Miss Brush, “but Dad would go off quite a treat if I wasn’t in to give him his
tea.”
“Oh, well, if you must,” said Wilfred, secretly relieved.
“That’s all right,” said Miss Brush and departed.
Caroline and Colonel Beaton, striding down from the hills, met the hockey players on their way home. Colonel Beaton attached himself to Wilfred and asked after the game.
“We won,” said Wilfred. “The others hadn’t a chance. The butcher’s daughter, Miss Brush, was the making of our side. A haughty woman, but runs like a hare. Not a bit grateful to the Young Squire for asking her up to tea either. I’d fall on anyone’s neck who asked me out to tea in this god forsaken place.”
“If you talk like that about Beechwood, it makes it easier for me to make a suggestion. I rather need someone to go to Paris and look up some papers for me. I’m doing an article for Hugh’s paper and I meant to go over myself and take Julia, but this engagement has turned everything upside down. If you haven’t any special plans could you go over, say tomorrow? It wouldn’t take you long and you could be back at work just as soon as you meant to.”
Wilfred’s heart bounded. To get away. To go to Paris, which he knew fairly well and adored. To be considered grown-up enough to go and look up papers for a celebrated chap like Beaton.
“I’d love to, if you think I’m really good enough,” he said. “I could leave early tomorrow morning and be in Paris tomorrow night.”
“Good. Come over after dinner and I’ll show you exactly what I want. I shall be alone, as Francis and Hugh and Julia are going to the Herberts. Of course I pay all expenses.”
“Thanks awfully, sir. By the way, I haven’t spoken to Julia to congratulate her yet,” said Wilfred. “I went to bed early last night, and then I was out for lunch today and didn’t get to the hockey field till the game was beginning. Will you give her a message from me and say I hope she’ll be jolly happy and all that sort of thing.”
“You wouldn’t like to speak to her yourself? She is somewhere behind with Francis.”
“Thanks awfully, sir, but I must simply dash off,” said Wilfred, unable to invent a reason for not delivering the message to Julia himself. “I’ll be around after dinner.”
He sprinted away down the lane. As he turned off by a field path to Beechwood, a dark figure came out of the obscurity. “That you, Wilfred?” said Hugh’s voice.
“Yes,” said Wilfred with an inward curse.
“I want to talk to you. Only a moment. Did Beaton ask you to go to Paris for him?”
“Yes.”
“Then look here,” said Hugh, taking no notice of Wilfred’s curt replies, “if I tell you where you are most likely to find James, will you have a look around in your spare time? It would be a relief to know what he is doing and we must do what we can for poor little Caroline. Francis was awfully keen on someone going and he can’t get away, nor can I just now.”
“Of course I will,” said Wilfred in a more human voice. “Oh, and I say, Hugh, congratulations and all. I’d gone to bed last night when the great news came out, or I’d have said it sooner. I hope you’ll both be awfully happy and all that.”
“Thanks ever so much,” said Hugh, grasping Wilfred warmly by the hand, much to that forlorn swain’s embarrassment. “Here’s a list of James’ usual bars that I made out, and you might get in touch with a couple of newspaper men I’ve mentioned.”
Wilfred took the note and sprinted away again in the dark, while Hugh rejoined the Whitelands party. Anna was delighted when she heard the news. Caroline pretended her surprise well enough to deceive Wilfred, but not Anna, who guessed what had happened.
“But it was nothing,” said Caroline. “I asked Colonel Beaton, I mean William, this morning, and this afternoon he told me what he meant to do. He said he was only too glad to help any of this family and would do all he could for a brother of yours. Otherwise we didn’t talk at all which is so restful. I think I’ll have dinner in bed tonight if you don’t mind, darling, I feel so tired. Not walk-tired, just tired.”
When Mr. and Mrs. Danvers came down to breakfast next morning, they found an affectionate little note from Wilfred telling them that he had left by the early train to go to Paris on work for Colonel Beaton, but would be back at the office at the time arranged. His parents, though sorry to lose their son, were glad that he had the chance of going abroad and suspected nothing.
“Was it a nice dinner party at the Deanery?” asked Anna.
“Very nice,” said Mr. Danvers. “Some of those young Grantlys – some kind of connection of the Dean’s they are – were there, very pleasant young people. Mrs. Crawley tried to explain the connection to me, but I can’t understand other people’s families. I think the Dean’s aunt married a Grantly – but no matter.”
“I’ll tell you who was there,” said Mrs. Danvers, thus wiping out anyone mentioned by her husband, “that Mrs. Morland who writes books. I must say she wasn’t at all what I expected. Not at all attractive. Her hair all coming down and talking about nothing but her children, and how her youngest boy had passed an entrance examination to a public school. Nothing to boast about.”
“Well, darling, every one isn’t as clever as your sons,” said George. “I used to get the scripture and drawing prize every term, and I bet you told everyone about it.”
“I must say, Evelyn, I don’t agree with you about Mrs. Morland,” said Mr. Danvers. “I found her very agreeable and we should have had a really interesting talk after dinner if it hadn’t been for that intolerable bore Knox.”
“Do you mean George Knox, Father?” said Anna. “The one that writes biographies? I adore his books.”
“So you may, my dear,” said her father. “They are written with ease and fluency and have a well-deserved popularity. Nor is the man entirely without scholarship. But he talks—!”
“I know what happened,” said George. “Father wanted to talk to Mrs. Morland and this Mr. Knox got in first. Is that so, Intellect?”
Intellect sank behind the Times in offended silence.
The rest of the week passed peacefully. Caroline worked for Colonel Beaton, Anna did village jobs and Francis went back to town. Hugh and Julia were so entirely absorbed in each other that they were almost invisible, but whenever they emerged from their golden trance, they were very sweet and loving to everyone.
On the day before the Danvers’ were to return to London, Wilfred suddenly appeared late in the afternoon. He had to bear as well as he could the questions his parents saw fit to put about his time in Paris. From the unwilling answers that he gave, any listener might have gathered that he spent his entire time either at his place of work, or at the quiet hotel where he put up. But if parents will ask questions, they bring the answers upon themselves.
Anna, Caroline and George were privileged to hear a rather less expurgated account of Wilfred’s adventures, and George for once felt some faint respect for his elder brother as a Dog who had Seen Life.
“Did you go to the Caveau d’Ali Baba?” asked Caroline. “James used to go there quite a lot, but it didn’t sound frightfully attractive.”
Wilfred, who secretly admired the way Caroline was able to mention James as if he had never happened, said he had been there. It was, he added, far from attractive and he had not repeated his visit. He had however met a very possible sort of woman, sister of one of Hugh’s newspaper friends, and had had altogether a delightful time.”
“Poor woman,” said George with a loud sigh.
“And why?” said his brother.
“I know what your idea of amusing a woman is. Telling her all about the Saar.”
“She happened to be remarkably well informed about that question and I learnt a good deal from her.”
“Oh, my hat,” said George and strolled out of the room.
Wilfred thought of following him and having a bear-fight, but remembering that he was now a man of importance who went to Paris on confidential errands, he smiled contemptuously, which gave him deep satisfaction though none of his relations saw it and they would have bee
n entirely unable to account for it if they had. He then rang up Whitelands to report himself to Colonel Beaton who asked him to dinner, adding that Julia and Hugh would be very glad to see him.
Wilfred dressed for dinner with considerable palpitation, not knowing how the sight of Julia would affect him. He had thought of her a good deal when he was in Paris and had had moments of acute and satisfactory suffering, but his work by day and his dissipations by night had certainly helped him to forget. Also there was that quite possible woman, sister of Hugh’s friend, a woman who had lived in Germany and really understood the anti-communist point of view. Even so, when you are to meet the girl who turned you down not more than a week ago, you may be excused for feeling perturbed.
But when he walked into the drawing room at Whitelands and Julia came flying to meet him and Hugh shook him by the hand as an ally, his heart gave one leap and then settled down in its place forever as far as Julia was concerned. She was prettier than ever, kinder, gentler, but not, Wilfred realized, the kind of woman that would have satisfied both heart and brain. More than once during dinner, when Julia showed an ignorance and levity about world problems which he found lamentable, did he think with affection of that really brainy woman, Hugh’s friend’s sister. Now there was a woman with looks and brains. Both Hugh and Colonel Beaton treated him subtly as an equal in a way they had never done before, and Wilfred sunned himself as a man in the regard of men. After dinner, there was music and talk, and then Julia went off to bed early, kissing everyone on the top of the head with complete impartiality. Wilfred mechanically put up his hand and smoothed his well-pomaded hair. One had to care for a woman really deeply before one could stand her interfering with one’s hair. After all, Julia was only a child.
O, These Men, These Men! Page 12