“It’s all got something to do with Buck not being left enough money to keep up the family house in Shropshire, and Evelyn wanting to buy the place—ancestors and all, if you know what I mean. Now, let me see. Buck’s father died quite young, leaving two sons. Isn’t that right, Toby?”
“Yes. Buck was the elder. And the old grandfather, who lived to be goodness-knows-what age, and only died some months ago, never liked Buck—”
“Oh, yes, yes, now I remember the rest of it,” interrupted his wife eagerly. “Let me tell it. It’s quite like a story. The grandfather really was an old pig. I do know that, because my people come from the same part of the country, and no one had a good word for him, He was the sort of man who re-made his will twice a week for the sheer pleasure of making all his relatives grovel.”
“And Buck didn’t grovel?” suggested Hilma, with a slightly unwise air of being able to answer for that.
“Well, no, I don’t expect he did. Anyway, he didn’t do whatever it was the old man thought he ought to do, and when the will was read, it was found that Buck had been left the family house—the eldest son had to have that in any case—but the wretched old creature had somehow contrived to leave every single penny of cash elsewhere.”
“I suppose a man is entitled to leave his money where he pleases,” observed Roger sententiously. And Hilma thought how different the same words had sounded when Buck himself had used them.
“Ye-es, of course,” Mrs. Elton didn’t seem entirely sure that she agreed with that. “Anyway, there was nothing for Buck to do but sell the place—”
“He could have let it,” Roger said firmly.
“No, I think it needed a good deal of repairing, or something of the sort. He’d have had to put it in order before anyone would take it, and, if rumour is correct, he just hadn’t the money to—”
“I should have thought he could have raised a mortgage.” Roger stroked his chin thoughtfully.
Even sweet-tempered Mrs. Elton looked faintly exasperated.
“It may have been mortgaged already. I don’t know. Anyway, it was advertised for sale—and Evelyn Moorhouse went down to see it. Some people say she fell in love with the house, and some people say she fell in love with Buck.”
“Others say Buck fell in love with her,” mocked her husband, “and some unkind people even say he fell in love with her money. But there they are, engaged, and she looks quite satisfied and he seems satisfactorily devoted, and they’re going to live at the family home, with all the ancestors and portraits complete. I don’t really know why Anne thinks it’s anything but a good arrangement.”
“Well,” Anne Elton looked a little put out, “perhaps it is, of course. But I always feel that Evelyn was the kind of person to want to buy a lot of ancestors all complete, you know.”
“And a handsome husband thrown in?” suggested her own husband with a smile.
“The man sounds something of a fortune-hunter himself,” observed Roger. “I should think she is the one who ought to think carefully.”
Something about that angered Hilma unreasonably, though she knew that Buck himself would have laughed mockingly and deliberately pointed out the truth of that to her.
“Anyway, he lives in Town at the moment, doesn’t he? Where does the country house come in?” she said impatiently. Then, realising the astonishment with which Roger was regarding her, she added hastily: “I mean, someone said he was at the ball the other night, and they spoke as though he lived in Town.”
“Oh, he does. That’s one of the things that make me wonder if he knows quite how much Evelyn will insist on her own way,” Anne Elton said “There’s all this talk about a family house in the country and so on, but I notice that while the season is on, it’s definitely Town for both of them.”
“Well, well,” Roger observed rather heavily. “You know the old saying about paying the piper and calling the tune. I suppose it applies here, too.”
“I suppose so,” Toby Elton agreed, while Hilma found herself wondering if that were a rule Roger would apply in their own case if there were a dispute. Then she dismissed the idea as most unworthy. And a few minutes later they all rose from the dinner-table and went to get ready for the theatre.
“It’s all very well for Toby and Roger to talk,” remarked Anne Elton confidentially to Hilma, “but Buck Vane is rather a dear, you know, and I’d hate to think he’d messed up his life with a hasty decision.”
“But don’t you think,” Hilma said slowly, “that he is the kind of man to see things with almost cynical clearness—to weigh them up carefully, and deliberately choose what he thought would be best in the end?”
“Yes—perhaps you’re right.” Mrs. Elton looked reflective. Then she added in some surprise: “Do you know him then?”
“I—have met him—that’s all. That was the impression I had,” Hilma said, and then very deliberately spoke of other things.
It was quite a brilliant show at the theatre that night—the kind of evening which would have held Hilma’s attention from beginning to end in the ordinary way. But while the people round her laughed and admired, she sat thinking over what she had heard that evening.
So there was really more reason than he had given her for the marriage bargain he had made. She rather admired him for not having gone into more detail about what one might have considered the excuses for his action. That was, of course, if the excuses really existed in the form that Anne Elton suggested.
Hilma remembered very clearly the way Buck had laughed and declared he was an adventurer—that they both were. It was hard to say whether he meant that in all seriousness—in spite of the laughter—or whether he took a slightly harsher view of his behaviour than he need have done.
When they were saying good-night outside the theatre, Mrs. Elton said very cordially:
“I do hope we shall see you again really soon.” And Hilma sincerely echoed that. She liked the Eltons immensely, and said as much to Roger on the way home.
“Yes, charming people.” Roger voiced his approval with great earnestness. “She’s a really womanly woman”—to Roger, praise could go no higher—”and he’s a sportsman. Figuratively as well as literally. A wonderful cricketer in his time, you know,” he added, under the impression that he had not told Hilma that before.
Hilma smiled and said it had been a delightful evening.
“And I was proud of you,” Roger added, though he rather seldom gave vent to such speeches. “You looked splendid, Hilma. Your mother is quite right when she says black suits you.”
“It suits all fair people,” Hilma told him.
“Yes.” Roger looked at her in a very contented way. “And your bracelet and that greeny-blue scarf make a good contrast. Same shade almost, aren’t they?”
Hilma laughed, because that was really very observant for Roger.
“That’s a nice bracelet.” It was one of Roger’s less likeable qualities that he always admired his own presents long after he had given them. He even took hold of her wrist to examine the bracelet afresh. And the next moment he gave an exclamation of annoyed dismay: “Why, Hilma, the centre scarab is missing! You must have lost it.”
“Let me see!” She was as put out as he was, because she knew, quite apart from the loss itself, that Roger would make a fuss about that sort of thing for weeks afterwards.
It was quite true. A tiny broken ring showed where the scarab had been.
“A splendid specimen, too!” exclaimed Roger. “Dear me, how very unfortunate. It wouldn’t have mattered if it had been one of the smaller ones at the side.” He sounded just a little as though Hilma should have chosen better when she lost the scarab. “Was it intact when you put the bracelet on?”
“Yes, I—think so.” She remembered now how hurriedly she had clasped it round her wrist.
“Surely you would have noticed if it had been missing” There was something like reproof in Roger’s tone.
“Yes, I’m almost sure I should.” S
he was not really quite sure, because her dressing had been such a very hasty affair. “I must have dropped it at the Eltons’ house—or perhaps even in the theatre.”
“Yes, that’s possible.” Roger was mollified by these suggestions, and even found time to notice Hilma’s disappointment and distress. “Never mind, my dear. We’ll do our best to find it, and if we don’t—well, you must just have another one, that’s all.” It gave him a great deal of pleasure to be able to say that.
“It’s very kind of you, Roger.” As his chagrin decreased, hers illogically mounted. She was glad Roger was no longer annoyed about it, and it was characteristically generous of him to offer her another scarab to replace the lost one. But—totally unsuperstitious though she was in the usual way—Hilma had an odd impression that the luck of that evening with Buck was bound up with the bracelet after all.
“I wish I could find it! I wish I could find it!” Hilma told herself worriedly. “I feel that if I don’t something else will go wrong because of that visit to the flat.”
An entirely absurd idea, of course, but one that persisted, in spite of all she could do to prevent it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Enquiry
The idea of ill luck which she had associated with the loss passed in the light of a little common-sense reflection. It was unfortunate—but these things did happen. And, anyway, there were a great many other things to engage her “attention just then.
The conversation with Alan Moorhouse and the complete clearing up of all the trouble connected with that ill-starred burgling attempt of hers had lifted more of a weight from her mind than she had realised at first. She really was free now to enjoy the preparations for her wedding and to savour in anticipation the easy, pleasant life ahead, of which she had had such a charming foretaste in her visit to the Eltons.
Her mother joined very happily in shopping expeditions, and Barbara came in more than once to offer advice—wanted or unwanted—on what would suit her cousin and what would not.
“Though, as a matter of fact, Hilma,” she declared generously, “there are very few things that don’t suit people of your colouring. You’ll make a marvellous bride my dear—and Roger will make a good figure, too, so long as playing a star role doesn’t make him feel a fool.”
“Really, Barbara!” The protest came from Mrs. Arnell. “I don’t know why it should.”
“No, nor do I, “ agreed Barbara imperturbably. “But the fact remains that he does get all self-conscious if he thinks anyone is looking at him. You’d better tell him, Hilma, that no one bothers about the bridegroom. Except the bride—sometimes,” she added carelessly.
Hilma laughed.
“Well, he has plenty of time to get up his courage. It isn’t for seven or eight weeks yet.”
“Um-hm. Pity he isn’t dark, now I come to think of it.” Barbara said reflectively. “With you so fair, a big dark man would make a wonderful foil. Still, I don’t expect even that consideration would make Roger dye his hair. Would it, Roger?” she demanded as he came in just then.
Roger had not heard the rather shattering suggestion, and it had to be repeated.
“Don’t be absurd, Barbara. I couldn’t possibly think of such a thing,” he assured her annoyedly.
“No, I was afraid not,” Barbara agreed.
Roger looked at her with something like distrust. Not that he disliked Hilma’s lively cousin, but, really, sometimes the girl’s idea of a joke became rather personal. Besides, she and her husband were always arranging to do things in a hurry. Roger liked to give thought and consideration to most things he did, and the Curtises’ easy habit of rushing hither and thither, usually accompanied by several other people, always made him slightly nervous and put out.
Even that evening they had some wild scheme (as Roger phrased it) on hand. Jim had joined the party later in the evening, and now they wanted to go on somewhere else, taking Hilma and Roger with them.
“It’s quite an informal, after-theatre sort of party,” Barbara explained. “The Burnthorpes—they wanted us to go to the theatre with them, but we couldn’t, as we were coming here. Then they asked us to join them after the theatre and bring you along.”
“Surely it’s a little late,” began Roger. While Hilma said:
“Wasn’t that where you wanted us to go before? They seem to hold a lot of informal parties, Barbara.”
“Oh, they do.” It was Jim who answered. “Awfully jolly people. There’s always a crowd there.” He evidently felt he could hold out no greater inducement for going there.
“Well, you go along.” Hilma smiled. “I don’t imagine they really expect us, too.”
“But they do, Hilma. I’ve told them quite a lot about you. They’ll think it funny if you refuse a second time.”
Hilma could not help thinking that people who gave such frequent and casual invitations to strangers probably hardly noticed whether they were accepted or not. But as both Barbara and Jim insisted on the possibility of the Burnthorpes being hurt, she agreed to go with Roger.
“Will you be very late, dear?” Mrs. Arnall enquired, as Hilma stayed behind to kiss her good-night while the others went out to the car.
“I don’t expect so” Hilma smiled and shook her head. “I imagine we shall say ‘Hello’ to a lot of people we’ve never seen before and are not likely to see again, have a couple of drinks and come away again. There isn’t likely to be anyone I know there.”
But in this Hilma was wrong. The first person she saw when she entered the large and crowded flat of the hospitable Burnthorpes was Buck Vane. He was standing in one of the deep window embrasures talking to an elderly man, and his slight but charming air of deference was oddly out of keeping with the noisy, cheerful, casual people round him.
Hilma was surprised to find how well she withstood the shock. She accepted a sort of flying introduction to her host and hostess with perfect calmness, noticing en passant that they displayed none of the frantic interest which Barbara had implied.
Both Barbara and Jim seemed to be known to most of the people there, and they evidently felt they could do Hilma and Roger no better service than to introduce them to as many people as possible in as short a time as possible.
None of the introductions really arrested Hilma’s attention beyond a smile and a conventional word or two until Barbara’s gay, rather high-pitched voice said:
“And this is Evelyn Moorhouse, of course. But you met before, didn’t you? Oh, no, it was Roger, not you. Evelyn, this is my cousin Hilma Arnall.”
In the time which had elapsed between the masked ball and this evening, Barbara had evidently progressed characteristically by easy stages from the “Miss Moorhouse” style of address to “Evelyn.”
Hilma found herself returning the greeting of a slim, dark girl with unusually light grey eyes. It was her eyes that one noticed before anything else. Though brilliant, they had a cool shallowness about them which made their owner seem oddly remote, in spite of her perfectly cordial manner.
So this was Buck’s fiancée.
Well, he had been right when he spoke of her outstanding smartness. Not only were her clothes expensive—they were also very well chosen and most beautifully worn. Every hair of her slightly eccentric coiffure was in place, and the little jewellery she wore was in impeccable taste and undeniably excellent.
She and Hilma stood there for a few moments, talking together—of the play, which Hilma had seen on another occasion, of the near approach of Christmas, of their mutual friends, the Eltons.
Then just as they were about to part company once more, Buck coolly joined their group, and Evelyn made casual introductions.
To an outward observer, there was nothing at all remarkable about Buck’s expression. But Hilma knew quite well what that sparkle in his dark eyes meant. He was intensely amused, as well as pleased, that they should meet again like this.
It amused Hilma, too—though she supposed it ought, rather, to shock her—and for a moment the rare dimple
showed in the centre of her cheek.
Roger made himself agreeable—however much he might be recalling the criticisms he had expressed to the Eltons—and Barbara remarked:
“You four must be getting married about the same time. Your wedding is just after Christmas, too, isn’t it, Evelyn?”
Evelyn agreed that it was, and Roger immediately brought up his remark about it being a good opportunity to combine one’s honeymoon with an escape from the English winter.
“How funny—we thought the same thing,” Evelyn said, a little drawlingly because she didn’t like other people to have the same ideas as herself. “But of course it isn’t settled yet. There’s plenty of time to change one’s mind.”
“Only about the honeymoon, I hope,” said Barbara laughingly. “I see you’re not wearing your ring.”
“Oh!” Evelyn looked down at her hand with an exclamation. “Isn’t it terrible? I’m always doing that. Now where did I leave it this time?”
At that moment their hostess tore herself away from half a dozen other guests to come hurrying over.
“Evelyn, your ring again! You left it on the dressing-table.”
“Thanks, darling.”
Evelyn accepted the ring quite coolly—not, Hilma thought, as though it mattered very greatly to her. But perhaps that was just her rather studiedly indifferent manner.
It was a very beautiful ring, Hilma noticed, with a complex, antique setting. Not the sort of ring one would see twice. Rather the kind of ring one might expect Buck to choose.
“It’s a good thing you’re a patient man, Buck.” Evelyn smiled at her fiancé. “Some men would get very wild with me for my carelessness.”
“That might effect an improvement” Roger could not resist pointing out. But Buck laughed and shook his head.
“Nothing improves Evelyn on that point. She leaves things about even when they aren’t strictly detachable. I’ve something here of yours, Evelyn—that reminds me.” He felt in his pocket. “Heaven knows how you managed to get rid of this. It must have been fastened to a chain or a bracelet or something.”
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