"Oh, did you really?" For a moment she could bear to take her thoughts off Toby. "What did you arrange?"
"That he should lunch with me at the club on Thursday."
"Oh good. Fm so glad. What did he sound like?"
"Very pleasant. Cultured voice. Very pleased to come, I gathered. He's an artist, it seems."
"An artist?" Gwyneth crinkled up the corners of her eyes in a sudden Uttle spasm of nervousness. "What is his name?"
And then she knew, by some horrible instinct, just a second before Van replied:
"Terence Muirkirk. Rather too picturesque. But I suppose he can't very well help his name."
CHAPTER FIVE
For a moment Gwyneth thought she must have cried out. The shock was so terrible that she could not imagine she had been able to remain silent. But one terrified glance at Van's unconcerned face told her she had done nothing to betray herself. The world was going on just the same.
Terry had risen from the past, like some fearful ghost. The very foundations of her world were rocking, just as they had that terrible night when she first realized she was going to have Toby. And yet the sun went on shining, the car hummed along the road, -Van's hands rested lightly on the wheel, and his expression was calm and unknowing.
"What am I to do?" Gwyneth thought. "What, in God's name, am I to do?—for Paula as well as for myself." Because, of course, she couldn't let Paula go on wandering happily along the edge of a precipice.
Why hadn't she asked Paula the man's name at once? Then she might have put a stop to the whole thing instead of having encouraged it with amiable, well-meaning foolery.
But how could she have put a stop to it? Above all, how to put a stop to it now, when she had made things ten times more difficult? Even if she could withdraw their support altogether—by some means make Van refuse to see Terry after all—what then? That only left Paula, in a dangerously miserable and defiant mood, completely at the mercy of Terry—who knew so well how to exploit such a mood.
Suddenly she felt the car slacken speed and stop.
"Gwyneth, you're terribly pale. Aren't you well, child?"
With an effort she opened her eyes and smiled faintly.
"I have a bit of a headache. It's nothing."
Van put his arm round her.
"Would you rather not go? There isn't the slightest need, if you think the heat will make you worse."
"Of course we must go," she cried sharply. And then, because everything seemed to rush at her at once, like a great confusing tide of disaster, she hid her face against Van's shoulder."
She couldn't cope with things. She couldn't possibly disentangle the dreadful skein of events and make them come straight. In sick panic she almost decided to tell Van everything—like a murderer deciding to plead guilty at once, rather than go through the long-drawn-out horror of discovery and trial.
But his quiet: "What is it, my darling?" awakened in her once more the impulse to fight madly for her happiness— her life, almost. These weeks with Van—discovering that,
because he loved and trusted her so much, he could be far more tender and demonstrative than she had ever supposed—^they couldn't be sacrificed lightly. If only she could escape from this danger all her life could be like these last weeks with Van. She must go on. So long as there was the smallest, weakest chance of rescuing such happiness, she must go on.
Raising her head, she smiled with creditable composure into Van's anxious eyes.
"It's all right, really. Only when you put your arm round me I always want to cling to you and forget everything else."
"Oh, Gwyn dear!" His laugh was both relieved and moved. "And you're sure there is nothing wrong?—that you wUl be perfectly well?"
"Quite sure."
He looked at her consideringly for a moment longer, but he seemed satisfied with the scrutiny.
"Very well. Take it quietly for the rest of the way and perhaps the headache will wear off."
"I'm sure it will."
She watched him start up the car again—-idly watched the needle of-the speedometer rising, the hedges sUpping past on either side. A sort of numbness had come over her, and the raging fever of agitation had dropped. By and by she would realize again how helplessly she was trapped, but for the moment she could take in no more. She could only yield thankfully to the temporary drug of Van's tenderness, which would never change—until he knew.
The sharp stab of that thought shocked the colour from her face again, and then she made another effort to quieten her mind, because Van must be kept from suspecting anything.
As the car turned into the long drive leading to Grey-stones, she thought:
"Perhaps I can make Paula see reason. Perhaps, it I tell her a little of what happened"—she winced at the thought —"I can persuade her to give up thinking about him." And then: "No, I couldn't tell her anything near the real truth, of course. I should have to pretend it happened to a' friend of mine—and then not ail the details. But oh,
God! that weakens the whole case so terribly. Paula wouldn't even listen. She's so sure she knows best **
"We're here, Gwyn," Van said, and she turned to smile at him quite tranquilly—^just as though her thoughts were not rushing to and fro like frightened, trapped little animals.
Greystones was looking very delightful in the sunshine, and several very handsome cars were already lined up outside. As they went into the big entrance hall Gwyneth had the impression of quite an important social gathering.
"It's a beautiful place, isn't it?" people said to each other a dozen times over. And one woman added: "One feels it is all so worthwhile when one sees the children with almost every advantage they would have in a good home of their own."
"Yes. Oh, quite/' murmured several voices dutifully. And one of the younger women said gaily:
"Who wouldn't be an orphan in circumstances like these?"
There was a little ripple of laughter, and Gwyneth even managed to laugh, too, while she thought:
"My darling, my darling, where are you? When will all these stupid preliminaries be over, so that I can see you and hold you and talk to you? They don't understand, these people. How could they? If they have children themselves, they're safe and happy in their own homes. They don't know what it's like just to see their children for one day and then go away again."
To all these people she was simply Evander Onslie's charming young wife—just married, you know—not a care in the world. They couldn't possibly have visualized her as a wretched, guilty, troubled woman, hoping against hope that she would be able to snatch a few moments alone with her baby.
"Have you seen the new dormitory?" "Yes, charming, isn't it?" 'The gardens are looking so attractive." "Lucky children—so much space." "Oh, but you must see the kitchens—quite models, you know." "I hear we can go and see the tinies have their lunch, if we like. They do everything for themselves, I understand."
"Van!" She caught her husband's arm. "Someone says we can go and see the very little ones have lunch. Let's go.
The visitors aren*t having lunch until much later. There's plenty of time."
Van smiled and came with her to the square, light dining-room where about two dozen children, between the ages of four and seven, were seated at half a dozen tables, very much interested in the food before them, very little interested in the one or two visitors who looked in on them.
Gwyneth saw him at once—on duty, apparently—^very important—carrying round a dish of carrots from which each child helped himself.
"There's your little friend," murmured Van, and she nodded—partly because she was too much absorbed to speak, partly because there was a lump in her throat.
The distribution of carrots was almost complete by now. And then suddenly Toby looked up from his task and saw her.
She had not known it was possible for his dear little face to look so beautiful. His eyes went very big and dark, and he stood quite still, smiling at her until she thought her heart would burst.
"
Toby!" hissed four sibilant whispers from four hungry companions, stiU awaiting their turn.
He pushed the dish, unceremoniously under their astonished little noses, and, breaking away from the group of tables, he ran to Gwyneth, where she stood by the door.
Almost choking with a fearful sort of joy, she caught him up in her arms. No doubt it was against the rules. No doubt Van was thinking it all very extraordinary. She couldn't help it. He was her baby. His arms were round her neck and his mouth on hers. She thought she would die of sheer happiness.
"How d'you do. I must go now," he said, beginning to scramble down. She wanted to hold him, but he said again: "I must go now," as though nations waited on his actions.
So she had to let him go then, but he kept on glancing round over his shoulder and smiling at her, as though he hoped she were watching his every movement.
"Oh, Van, isn't he sweet?" she whispered to her husband.
"He's adorable," Van said slowly. And then she wanted to cling to him and sob:
"Oh, please, please can I take him home and keep him?"
But instead she had to behave with perfect self-control.
She could have watched Toby for hours, but presently the request was brought that they would come and have lunch themselves. And Gwyneth had to tear herself away, and go and make pleasant conversation to strangers in the now transformed staff dining-room.
"Did you see the little ones having lunch all on their own? Weren't they cute?" someone said to Gwyneth, and she saw it was the young, gay woman who had exclaimed: "Who wouldn't be an orphan here?"
"Yes," Gwyneth said, "I saw them."
"There was one killing little pet taking round vegetables. I could have picked him up and run away with him," her companion declared. And Gwyneth wanted to say angrily:
"Oh no, you couldn't! He's mine."
As it was, her husband answered for her:
"That was Toby, I expect. My wife and he are quite old friends."
"I do love Van!" Gwyneth thought with passionate gratitude. "How dear of him to make Toby sound almost mine!^'
"Oh, you know him? Dear me, you are honoured. He wouldn't take the slightest notice of any of us. He was much too busy.'*
"Yes, he takes things very seriously," Gwyneth said tenderly, and she felt her husband glance at her again.
"I hear there's an entertainment by the children afterwards—on the lawn. That ought to be fun. I hope little sobersides is in it."
"I hope so," Gwyneth smiled rather coldly, because this stupid woman didn't seem to realize that darling Toby could be very laughing and jolly, too. He was only serious when there were serious matters on hand.
And then again she thought: "I'm just like any other mother—anxious that everyone should think her darling perfect."
After lunch, she and Van stroUed out on to the lawn to see the improvised stage which had been put up there. It looked very festive, with bunting and coloured butter muslin, and the dark trees behind made a beautiful background.
People strolled about, smoking and talking, and every now and then an eager little figure or two would pop out
from behind the high stage to inspect the scene. But an i unseen authority always called them back again.
There were deck chairs scattered about, and Gwyneth and Van sat down quite near the stage.
"How is the headache, Gwyn?"
"Oh, quite gone." She turned an almost radiant face on him. Not all the grim problems closing in on her could spoil the exquisite enjoyment of this afternoon near Toby.
Preparations were complete at last, and the great business of the entertainment began—with some very creditable chorus singing from the older children. They had fresh, young voices which sounded very sweet in the open air, and at any other time, Gwyneth would have been charmed. But now she was like some admirer waiting for a stage star—she could not take much interest in anything until he should come on to the scene.
He made his appearance at last, in a little action play for the younger ones. First she recognized the decorative Freddie in the character of Cupid—so glamorous in his scanty attire and clutching his bow and arrows that he raised a round of applause on his own. This rather went to his head and, forsaking his pensive pose at the back of the stage, he came forward and beamed at his admiring public.
It was only with great difficulty that he was persuaded to come off the stage at all, after that—^to make way for two indignant little heralds who had been dancing with impatience to make their entry for the last three minutes.
They blew upon two tin trumpets with great gusto and slowly a diminutive magician came into view. He was in black, with silver stars pasted on his long robe, and from under the high, conical hat looked out the solemn features of Toby.
With great dignity and self-possession he paced up and down the platform, entirely oblivious of the ripples of delighted laughter, and slowly waved his wand to and fro.
It was at that exact moment that disaster broke on the pleasant, amusing scene. Almost as though the child's action had really raised some force of evil, a rapid tongue of fire seemed to run hke lightning up the bunting at the side of the stage, and the muslin which draped the platform suddenly became one swirl of flame.
"Toby!'*
She was on her feet and racing across the intervening space almost before anyone else realized what was happening. The two heralds had scuttled for safety, but Toby stood where he was, fascinated with horror at the smoke and flames all round him.
"Toby! Jump, darling—I'll catch you."
She was almost against the stage, but it was too high for her to reach him, and the flames leapt out at her as though they meant to drive her back.
She scarcely even noticed them as she repeated her cry to the scared little figure in the absurd magician's robes.
For a moment he didn't seem even to hear her voice— f: then suddenly he saw her, and with a little yelp of relief, i- he rushed towards her.
He was frightened of the jump and frightened of the flames, but she held up her arms to him and smiled.
As he jumped, her thin frock burst into flame.
With a gasp of horror, she flung the child clear and tore at the blazing dress. Someone seized her—Van, she knew, from the strength of the hands which tried to crush out the : flames—but the thin dress blazed like a torch.
A coat was flung round her, and then another. Scarcely knowing what she was doing, she struggled frantically.
"Don't, darling—^you're all right. I have you," she heard Van say. And then she fainted.
Afterwards they told her that the whole thing, from start to finish, took only two or three minutes, but it had seemed to her like hours. And the blank unconsciousness which succeeded it seemed to have continued for days, when at last she struggled to the surface again.
She was lying in a room she didn't know at all, but she knew the taU figure standing at the window, with his back to her.
"Van," she said rather weakly, and he turned at once and came over to her, his face so pale and strained that he looked much older than she had ever seen him look before.
She smiled—more faintly than she knew—and whispered:
"Fm all right. Where is Toby?"
Van put his hand very lightly on her hair.
"The baby's all right, too. You have nothing to worry about."
She thought how delightful it was to have Van speak of I Toby like that.
"Can I see him?"
"Not just now, dear. It's quite late at night. He's in bed."
She saw then that the light was on, and that Van had really been gazing out into the darkness. There were a lot of things she wanted to ask, but they were all too much trouble. So she just smiled at him again and closed her eyes instead.
When she opened them once more it was morning, and everything was much clearer and sharper in her mind. She guessed that the little white room where she was lying was part of the orphanage, and she supposed from the throbbing in her left arm and shoulder that
this was where she had suffered most from burns yesterday.
Van was not there any longer, and she wondered unhappily if he had gone back to London. Business was so very much part of Van's life. Then she remembered that it was Sunday, and there would be nothing to take him away from her. Even as she thought that, the door opened and he came into the room.
"Hello, Van." She saw a profoundly relieved expression come over his face as she greeted him. *'I was afraid for a moment that you'd gone back to London."
"Gone back to London? You couldn't have thought that." He bent down and kissed first her cheek and then her lips.
"Well, I'd forgotten it was Sunday and that you didn't have to go to the office."
"You don't really think the office or anything else would have taken me away from you just now, do you?"
"N-no, I suppose not." She considered that and then asked curiously: "I'm not very iU, am I?"
He didn't answer directly.
"You had a very nasty shock," was what he said. "That was more serious than the burns."
"I think you had a bad shock too, Van." Sh*e put up her uninjured hand to touch his cheek.
"Yes," he said briefly, and she saw him press his lips together hard.
"You mustn't worry any more now," she told him and, pulling him down feebly, she kissed him.
He sat down on the side of the bed, then, and presently she said: "Put your arm round me, Van."
He did so at once, drawing her into the circle of his arm, so that she could lean against him.
"AH right like that?"
"Um-hm."
They were both silent, and then, after a minute or two, they both became aware of a certain amount of scrambling and panting outside the door of the room. The handle turned jerkily at last, the door opened slowly, and into the room came Toby.
On seeing Van he looked so taken aback that it was pretty obvious he was not really supposed to be paymg this unofficial call.
"Did you want me, darling?" Gwyneth asked gently, and he transferred his sole^nn gaze to her.
"Yes, I want you," he said^ but he didn't move.
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