The Black Benedicts

by Anita Charles

  “Don’t you?” Mallory was amazed at the note of ice in his voice when he answered her—this beautiful, poised ballerina for whom he was giving a very costly dance in a few days’ time—and she wondered whether perhaps it was her imagination, and because she did feel a little dazed and unlike herself just then, and although she despised herself for it, the sight of blood—any blood—always made her feel horribly squeamish, and it seemed to be flowing down her lacerated right arm. “Well, that may be your opinion, but I don’t happen to share it, and if you’ll grab hold of Ajax and take him away and have him tied up securely somewhere in the stables I’ll take Miss Gower through to the library and get her arm attended to.”

  “But...” Sonia began, as if she could not honestly believe he was addressing her in those curt, icy, commanding tones. And then as she caught a glimpse of his face she added with commendable restraint and composure: “Oh, very well.”

  Mallory never afterwards had a very clear recollection of what transpired in the library once they reached it, but she did know that a glass of something tasting very strong and fiery was thrust into her shaking left hand, and that she was peremptorily ordered to drink it all up. She did drink it up, but she choked a little over it, and then she was thrust into a chair and Raife Benedict rang the bell for Mrs. Carpenter, who quickly possessed herself of a bowl of warm water and some iodine and proceeded to dean up the damage to Mallory’s arm. Mallory tried not to wince as the iodine did its work, but despite tremendous efforts the tears stung her eyes and she could see her employer’s dark face looking down at her through a blur which presently, and to her horror, spilled over on to her cheeks and formed two tiny rivers running down to her chin.

  She gulped, and thought what a coward he must think her; and then in the midst of her distress once more remembered Mark Anthony and besought him in a shaking voice to make sure that the little cat was all right.

  “I’ve told you that the cat is almost certain to be all right, and in any case Phipps already has instructions to bring him down off the roof. At this moment he’s probably getting a long enough ladder.”

  “A—a ladder?” she stammered, for something to say.

  “Yes. And in future don’t try to interfere between a dog and cat argument.” His voice was disturbingly rough as he spoke to her, and she realized that he was probably seriously annoyed because she was largely responsible for this unpleasant episode, and relations between him and Miss Martingale might now be a little strained—for a time, at least.

  She looked down into Mrs. Carpenter’s sympathetic eyes, and the housekeeper said to reassure her:

  “There’s no need to get the doctor to do anything about this graze because it’s quite clean now, and although it will probably be sore for days it will heal up nicely enough. But I think it would be a good idea if you went upstairs to your room and had a little rest after the shock of it. Darcy can keep an eye on Serena, and you’re definitely looking a bit upset.”

  “I’m—quite all right,” Mallory assured her, and thought that she would probably feel much more all right if she was not so firmly convinced that her employer was secretly chafing with irritation. “And, in any case, I’m not an invalid.”

  Later that day Serena came racing to Mallory and told her that she had been invited to have tea in the drawing-room, and that Miss Martingale had actually brought her a fancy dress all the way from London, and she was going to be allowed to see it.

  “Isn’t it wonderful!” she exclaimed, doing a delighted little skip about the room. “It’s a copy of a picture by somebody called Romney, and I’m to wear a big hat and have my hair dressed in ringlets on the night of the dance. Isn’t it absolutely gorgeously thrilling?” And she threw her arms around Mallory and hugged her exuberantly until Mallory winced uncontrollably, when the naturally sympathetic heart of the child was touched.

  “I’m sorry about Mark Anthony,” she exclaimed, stroking the fur of the subdued small animal as it lay in Mallory’s lap, “but, as Sonia says you ought not to have interfered between it and Ajax, because that simply excited Ajax and otherwise he wouldn’t have done Mark Anthony any harm at all. And now poor Ajax is shut up in the stables, and Sonia is very cross about it.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” Mallory replied, rather wearily. “But although she may be quite right, I’m glad I took no chances, and at the moment Mark Anthony is all in one piece.” And then as Serena gazed at her with a mixture of interest, doubt and sympathy, she added a trifle more impatiently: “And now, run away and have your tea and get your first glimpse of your new dress. And if they wanted you to do so you can stay downstairs until dinner-time, and then Darcy will help you to bed.” But when Serena had gone, and she pictured the domestic scene in the drawing-room, massed with its usual flowers, and Sonia presiding behind the tea-equipage, while Serena exclaimed in delight at her fancy dress costume, and the host stood looking on benignly—unless he had not yet completely recovered his temper—one or two more weak tears rolled down her cheeks, said even the responsive purrs of Mark Anthony wore scarcely a comfort to her just then.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  For the next few days the whole house seemed to be in a state of uproar, with all sorts of people coming and going and tradesmen’s vans constantly appearing in the drive Serena was in her element and raced excitedly about the house, getting in everyone’s way and making it difficult for Mallory to control her because her uncle was apparently indulging her just then, and Miss Martingale had also taken to spoiling her.

  Miss Martingale was a prime favourite with Serena at that period of her life, not only because the dress she was to wear on the night of the dance was enchanting, and made the most of the nine-year-old’s striking good looks, but because she was constantly being pressed by her to have tea in the drawing-room, and even to walk with her and Raife in the grounds.

  Mallory deliberately sank herself into the background in those days, and having helped as much as she could in the early days, when the ballroom was being brought to life after its long sleep and period of forgetfulness, she decided that she would be better out of the way now, and whenever Serena was invited to join the other members of the house-party—for this time quite a swarm of people seemed to have accompanied Sonia to Morven—she made an excuse to remain in her own room, and as the excuses were not challenged, took it that her absence was definitely preferred to her company.

  Only Adrian, apart from herself, seemed to hold aloof from all the excitement that was going on in Morven, and when she lay in bed at night Mallory could hear him amusing himself tirelessly at his piano, but in a way which was sometimes inclined to wring her heart. She felt that he, like herself, was aware that he was not really wanted, and possibly he was happier keeping to his own rooms in his own remote wing of the house.

  One evening when the rest were having dinner she caught him wandering about the rose garden in the gathering dusk, and when she looked at him in surprise he explained that he did not really enjoy large house-parties, and that Raife understood his desire to be left alone and did not pester him to join them.

  “But you,” he said, looking at Mallory, who was wearing a simple cotton dress with a white belt and sandals, and whose small face bore a look of wistfulness which caused him to study her father sharply, “you’re different from me—you’re young and attractive, and you ought to enjoy other people’s society. In any case it isn’t natural for you to be quite alone when all the others are congregated in one spot, and I can’t think how you managed to get away with it. Didn’t Serena demand your attendance to-night? Or is she in bed?”

  “No,” Mallory answered, “she’s dining in the dining-room to-night, as a special treat, but she’s coming up stairs as soon as coffee is served, and I’m putting her to bed.”

  “And you?” Adrian asked. “Weren’t invited, too?”

  “Well, as a matter of fact,’ Mallory confessed, “I was. But,” looking him straight in the eyes, in case he should be inclined to disbelieve h
er and pity her, “I’m rather like you, Mr. Benedict, and I prefer to be alone.”

  She might have added that as she had only one dress in which to appear in the dining-room, amongst exceptionally smart guests, whose clothes had probably been purchased in Paris, and Sonia Martingale had already seen her in that dress on several occasions, she preferred for the sake of her pride to keep to the sanctuary of her own rooms.

  “Well, in that case,” Adrian Benedict answered rather swiftly, “since we’re alike we ought to spend more of our time together, and I’d like you to come up to my room more often than you do. What about coming up for a little while this evening, after you’ve put Serena to bed? We both enjoy music, and it’s an immense consolation when you feel a little—well—out of things!” She wondered whether he was shrewd enough to realize that that was just what she did feel—out of things! Then she recalled that Raife, his brother, had once expressed the wish that when ever it was possible for her to do so she should at least not begrudge devoting a little of her time to Adrian, and because his eyes seemed to be pleading with her a little she nodded and smiled at him.

  “If you would like me to do so,” she told him, “I should find it very pleasant.”

  Instantly his whole face lighted up, and he thanked her with obvious sincerity.

  “Then that’s settled!” he exclaimed. “We’ll have a Chopin evening—and perhaps a little of Brahms! You shall tell me what you would like me to play, and I will play it for you.”

  Mallory felt vaguely sorry for him as she , watched him disappear towards the house, and she herself remained out of doors in the rose garden until the light was fading, when she hurried up to the nursery wing to put Serena to bed.

  Serena was actually waiting for her, a little bored because the grown-ups had talked over her head during dinner, and she had not had as much limelight as she would have enjoyed. But no sooner was she in bed than she was asleep, and Mallory entered her bedroom and decided to make a few alterations to her appearance. She took down a little lavender-blue dress out of her wardrobe which had seen much service, but was newly back from the cleaners, and with the addition of her mother’s pearls and a little extra make-up she realized, as she turned to herself in the mirror, that she was not unattractive—in fact, some people might have thought her remarkably attractive.

  As she went along the corridor the softened lights shone down on her palely gleaming hair and her flower-like skin, and it was only when she passed the head of the staircase and looked down into the luxurious well of the hall, that the thought that the one man she could have been happy to spend the evening with was down there being extremely attentive to a successful ballerina affected her with a faint, wistful feeling of sadness. And then she mentally squared her shoulders, and went on towards Adrian’s room with another thought giving her a little more confidence—that at least by acting as an audience to the younger Benedict’s playing, she could give him a certain amount of happiness.

  He had obviously been listening for the sound of her footfalls, for the instant she reached his door it was flung wide open, and he stood eagerly waiting for her to enter. His room looked attractive in the amber light of his tall reading lamp which stood beside the piano, and she noticed that he himself was looking almost startlingly handsome, if just a little feminine, in a velvet dinner-jacket, with a crimson silk handkerchief escaping from the end of his sleeve.

  He placed her in his most comfortable chair, and then offered her a glass of sherry, which on this visit she accepted, and then instead of making for his piano he sat down beside her on the broad Chesterfield couch and looked at her with disconcerting admiration in his velvety dark eyes.

  “Do you know,” he said rather abruptly, disconcerting her still more, “that I’m quite sure your coming here to Morven to teach Serena was something that was especially ordained.” His dark eyes were glowing like lamps, she thought, and they had an almost burning way of looking at her, as if to him she was as welcome a sight as an oasis in the desert would be to a man dying of thirst. He set down his glass of sherry on the little table between them, and leant a little towards her. “Out of all the houses in England to which you might have gone you had to come here,” he said softly—“and it was here that I was waiting for someone like you to wake up out of my lethargy and give me a new interest in life!”

  If he noticed her slight recoil—the way she shrank back amongst the cushions of the Chesterfield—he gave no sign of it, and his look dwelt caressingly on the pale gold of her hair, the slender shape of her body beneath the flimsy material of her gown. He spoke more earnestly.

  “You do like Serena, don’t you?—in fact, you’re very fond of her, aren’t you? And I’m Serena’s father! The three of us could be happy together—or that’s what I’ve decided! Mallory...!” He put out an eager, beautifully-formed hand and lightly touched one of hers. “Haven’t you any idea at all what I’m leading up to? I know I’m rather rushing things—or I must appear to be rushing things—but I’ve thought about you and me so much, and...”

  “Please, Mr. Benedict!” Mallory made a little movement as if she would get to her feet, and the expression in her eyes was amazed and perturbed, but he caught her swiftly by the arm and drew her down again.

  “Mallory, you’re so lovely... I want to marry you and take you away from here to the White Cottage where we can live together and be happy, and if you haven’t thought about it as much as I have, don’t please turn me down until you’ve promised to give the matter your consideration at least. If only for Serena’s sake...”

  But Mallory was so shocked by this utterly unexpected declaration that for a few moments she actually looked quite horrified, and then she made a determined attempt to rise from the couch, and, snatching free her arm, moved several paces away from him. He stood up, looking rather pale, and, moving near to her again, stretched forth his hands pleadingly.

  “Then you don’t—you’re not even a little bit interested...?”

  “I’m afraid—not...” But Mallory blamed herself. She blamed herself because not unnaturally he had misunderstood her willingness to spend whole evenings with him alone in this room, and although on previous occasions he had behaved perfectly, giving her no clue to what he was planning, to-night he had obviously been feeling so sure of her and her answer that he had not even waited until they had had a little ordinary conversation before he astounded her by uttering his proposal. And now that she was looking almost horrified by it there was something so bitterly disappointed and almost agonized in his face that a great wave of sympathy for him flowed over, and she regretted perhaps more than she had ever regretted anything in her life that she had got to add one more disappointment to his marred disappointed life.

  “I’m so sorry,” she told him, her soft voice shaking a little because she meant it, “so terribly sorry—but not even for Serena’s sake could I—could I marry you...”

  “Not if I’m patient and give you time to get used to the idea? To think it over?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  She sounded so definite that his face grew even more stricken.

  “You couldn’t bring yourself to fall in love with me?”

  She shook her head.

  “It’s not that, I—I don’t love you...”

  And it was true, she thought, that she could never love him—handsome though he was—actually far more handsome than his brother, because his features were well-nigh perfect, and there was something about him which appealed to her—something wistful and pathetic. But to be compared with his brother there was nothing—nothing about him that could ever cause her pulses to beat a little faster, to feel breathless when he spoke to her, secretly agonized when he ignored her, unhappy because life had never meant them anything other than employer and employee...

  She turned towards the door, and she said in rather a flat voice:

  “I think it would be better if I returned to my own room...”

  But he got between her and the door, an
d he began to plead again.

  “But I’ve been waiting for you to come up here!—I’ve been listening for your footsteps, and you can’t leave me so soon. We’ve had no time together at all, and I couldn’t bear it if you went away without even letting me play to you. I won’t let you...”

  She said sorrowfully: “You can’t stop me.”

  “That’s true,” he agreed, looked at her appealingly, and then bit his lip. “All the same, I...”

  “Yes?”

  But as she looked up at him, and her clear grey eyes met his, without any suspicion of what his next move was going to be, a dark flush rose under his clear olive skin, and in a single movement he was right beside her, and had caught her by her slender shoulders. An alarmed look flashed into her eyes, but before she could utter even a protest his arms had closed violently about her, and she was crushed up against him, the strength of his deceptively slender body filling her with one brief moment of amazement before his lips clamped down on hers and she was powerless to do anything at all.

  As soon as he lifted his head, however, she started to struggle violently. She beat at him with her small, clenched fists, and her frantic resistance seemed to act like the flames of a fire on his already uncontrollable passion, and he kissed every available inch of her face in a despairing manner which secretly terrified her, although she did her utmost to prevent it. And then just as he bent to cover her slim white throat with the same hungry, hopeless kisses a knock came on the door, sharp and peremptory, and for a moment Adrian once again lifted his head.